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JTZHKRE once New-Jersey's hills amoHi, 
y y Stalked Scarlet-coat and Hessian, 
Behold to-day another throng 
In motley^ quaint procession. 

The artist with a panel rare. 

The poet with his sonnet^ 
The matron grave and maiden fair. 

Each with a new spring-bonnet ! 

The scientists with sundry packs, 
.4 nd specimens appalling .' 

Judges and governors in hacks, 
A ndnicn of ez'ery calling. 

While on the balmy air of May 

Float scngs of jubilee. 
From maidens twelve in bright array — 

The ^Esthetics of J. C. 

Erminnie cries — " Thrice luclcome ye .' 

Who thus your aid are giving 
To blend the beautiful and good, 

A nd teach a nobler living.'" 



J^;^0Ua-*^\^^-/^j , 



%,4::\ 




ECHOES 



Esthetic Society 



JERSEY CITY 




NOS. 51 & 53 MAIDEN LANE 



MDCCCLXXXII. 



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A- 



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To our esteemed President, MRS. ERMINNIE A. SMITH, 

this volmne is lovingly and respeetfully dedicated, by 

the '''Daughters of the ALsthetic Society.''' 

CELIE GAINES, ADDIE HELME, 

ALICE HAMBLIN, MARY JEWETT, 

EMILIE GROESBECK, FLORENCE NEWTON, 

ANNIE HORNIG, LOUIE HORNIG, 

LIZZIE R. BURST, IMOGENE KENZEL, 

GEORGIE WELCH, CLARE BUNCE. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Dedication, .......■•• v 

Introduction, ......■.•• ix 

Preface, xiii 

New- Year Greeting — 1879, ......•• i 

" Croaker and Co.," ........ 4 

Jamie, ........... 21 

Through a Window, ........ 23 

Rip Van Winkle, 25 

Gems, ........... 34 

The Last Ride, 57 

'Tis Better Not to Know, 63 

Love's Belief, .......... 65 

Miss Preciosa's Principles, ....... 67 

Budge's Story of the Flood, ....... 80 

New-Year Greeting — 1880 82 

To a Lizard in Amber, ........ 86 

Rest and Leisure, ......... 89 

Kitty of Coleraine, 102 

Como, 103 

From Dusk to Dawn, ......... 108 

Mrs. Lofty and I, 109 

Children, ill 

In School-days, ......... 116 

The Fading Rosebud, . . . . . . . .119 

A Royal Princess, ......... 123 

The Cows are in the Corn, .... . . . i2g 



Table of Contents. 



PATE. 

The Fish-ball, 131 

Poe'b House at I-'ordham, ........ 133 

A Rhyme of the Rain, ........ 145 

Old Huldah, 152 

Maid of Athens, 157 

Mary Stuart and Marie Antoinette, . . . . . .158 

The Irishman's Panorama, ....... 166 

For Cupid Dead, . . . . . . . . .169 

New-Year Greeting — 1881, ....... 171 

Myths of the Iroquois, . . . . . . . .176 

A Jawfnl .Story, ......... 193 

Lorraine, . ......... 197 

Lines to Mrs. Smith, ........ 199 

Lines on the Presentation of an Indian Brooeh, .... 2C2 

Science and Religion, ........ 206 

Lines on a Boquel, . . . . . . . -217 

Blown Away, . . . . . . . . . . 219 

Punchinello, .......... 230 

A Fragment from " La Dame Aux Camelias," . . 232 

Bedouin Love-Song, ......... 233 

The Petrified Fern, ......... 234 

She is Dead, .......... 236 

Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep, ...... 239 

A Story in Verse, ......... 240 

A Royal Greeting, ......... 245 

Paul on the Hill-side, 248 

We Lay Us Down to Sleep. ....... 250 

Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye, ...... 252 

To Meet Again, ......... 254 



INTRODUCTION. 




N the spring of the year 1876, a number of young 

ladies met by invitation of Mrs. Erminnie A. 

Smith, at her residence, No. 203 Pacific Avenue, 

Jersey City, to organize a society for mutual improvement. 

Mrs. Smith was chosen President, and Miss Clara Frasse 

Secretary". 

The object of the organization being the cultivation 
and education of a taste for the beautiful in literature, 
science, and art, it was decided to adopt the name of " The 
Esthetic Society." 

As a guide in their studies the President advised the 
use of White's Eighteen Christian Centuries, which was 
chosen as a text-book, and the topics for essays and dis- 
cussion were taken up in chronological order. 

Beginning with the twelve Caesars, the first lesson was 



Introduction. 



a study of Julius Cossar. Suetonius and other authorities 
were consulted, and Shakspeare's play was read aloud, the 
different characters being allotted to certain members. 

After this the meetings were held every Saturday, and 
the conspicuous personages and events in each succeeding 
century down to the present epoch, were taken up conse- 
cutively as the subjects of essays or discussion, after which 
the entire course was reviewed. 

The membership gradually increased, and the reunions 
were made still more enjoyable by the introduction of music 
and recitations. 

At the expiration of two years the Association had 
grown so large as to necessitate more extended accom- 
modations, and persons interested in its progress were 
invited to attend the meetings on one Saturday of each 
month, and to participate in its advantages. 

Programmes were printed, and, at the request of the 
President, distinguished artists and literati willingly con- 
sented to add their contributions. 

The success of the organization, as well as its origin, is 



Introduction. 



due to the ability and energy of its efficient President ; and 
it is to her efforts that we who have enjoyed and profited 
by its privileges, are indebted for its existence. 

The contents of the volume, which is now presented 
to the friends of the Society, as a souvenir of the past 
five years of its existence, will, we trust, though robbed 
of their original brilliant setting of wit and repartee, receive 
a cordial welcome, as meriting to be "Twice Told Tales." 

CELIE GAINES. 




PREFACE. 



HIS volume is offered to the members and friends 
of the -Esthetic Society of Jersey City, as a 
souvenir of the many interesting meetings which 
have been held under its auspices. It embraces many con- 
tributions not written for publication, but which were read 
on different occasions, and therefore deserve a place on these 
pages ; and some others which, although familiar to us in 
books that are known in every home, may still be welcomed 
here, because of the pleasant memories with which they are 
associated, in connection with the Society. 

In the attempt to gather into this volume such selections 
as would best represent the ability and culture of those who 
have taken part in the meetings, unforeseen difficulties have 
been met : some of the writers have not preserved their 
manuscripts ; many of the addresses and debates have been 
extempore, and those who regularly attend the monthly 
receptions given by Mrs. Smith, will doubtless regret the 
omission of some of the best literary contributions, which, 
for various causes, have been necessarily left out. 

We need offer no apology for the many complimentarv. 



Preface. 



personal allusions to the President of the Society, which are 
scattered through the book ; for it is to her energy and 
generosity that the brilliant success, and even the existence, 
of the Society is due. 

Among the distinguished persons who have taken part 
in the meetings of the Society may be mentioned the 
following : — Dr. J. S. Newberry, of Columbia College ; 
Major Powell, Director of the United States Geological 
Survey ; Dr. B. F. Martin, of New-York University ; ex- 
Vice-President Colfax ; Prof. D. S. Martin, of Rutger's 
College ; Prof. Sauveur, of the School of Languages ; Prof. 
Thomas Egleston, of the School of Mines ; ex-Governor 
Fuller ; the Rev. Charles Suydam ; the Rev. Edwin Burr ; 
Prof. McCloskie, of Princeton ; Principal Barton, of Jersey 
City ; Major Pangburn ; Mr. Romyn Hitchcock ; Mr. John 

Baker (W. S ky) ; Mr. Winfred Martin ; Dr. Fuller 

Walker ; Miss Selma Borg ; Mrs. Prof. Morse ; Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Churchill ; Prof. Kroeh ; Mr. Weidemier ; Judge 
Roosevelt ; Mr. Montague Marks ; Mr. Frederick Vors ; 
Mrs. Caroline Brooks, and Miss Julia Burnett. 

Among the artists who have favored the Society with 
musical selections, the names of several, who are not men- 
tioned elsewhere in the book, will be recalled with pleasure 
by all who have listened to them. Miss Ida Leoni Bush, 
during two seasons, played selections from many of the 



Preface. 



classic composers ; among others, may be mentioned Messrs. 
Mollenhauer, Mills, Franklin, Korthauer, Salinger, and 
Misses Sloman, Gliick, Jewett, Read, Simonson, Hornig, 
Trimble, and the Misses Parker. 

The first exhibition of the phonograph, in Jersey City, 
was given by Mr. W. A. Croffut, before the Society, and Dr. 
Peet, of the Institution for Deaf-mutes, illustrated the uses 
of the audophone, with the aid of a class of pupils in his 
care. 

Many of the illustrations in the book, including the 
frontispiece, have been drawn and engraved by one of the 
active members, Mr. B. B. Chamberlin. They represent 
articles familiar to visitors at Mrs. Smith's residence, some 
of which were presented to her by the Society. The por- 
trait of Mrs. Smith is an artotype-print, taken from a bas- 
relief by the celebrated sculptor, Mr. W. R. O'Donovan, of 
New-York City. 

We send our " Echoes " forth, not wholly unconscious 
of their short-comings and defects, but trusting that all our 
hopes and wishes concerning them may be fulfilled, and 
reechoed by the friends and members of the Esthetic in 
such a way as to redound to the usefulness and advancement 
of the Society. 

LIZZIE R. BURST. 



Autographs. 




Autographs. 



Aiito^rapJis. 




Cx>^^j^:^cr7d^<^ 



Autographs. 




NEW YEAR GREETING. 



W. A. CROFFUT. 




NEW YEAR hail and greeting to .'Esthetic ! 
A right-down, earnest hail and friendly greeting I 
As the old year is silently retreating, 

Its blind eyes shut, its pulses scarcely beating, 

May this "preliminary monthly meeting," 

As Quakers call it, prove to be prophetic 
Of humorous recitals, songs pathetic. 

And speeches analytic and synthetic. 

To keep alive the spirit of Esthetic. 



A new year hail and greeting to .'Esthetic ! 
I speak but as a guest, whose little leisure, 
Einds here such entertainment, rest and pleasure, 
Elavorous and fine, in overwhelming measure, 
As e'en a cynic might esteem a treasure, 



Neiv Year Greeting. 



Deep problems geologic, arithmetic, 
Conclusions proved, or merely hypothetic, 
And dissertations, prosy or poetic. 
Obeying regulations dietetic, 
Give varied bill of fare to the ^^sthetic. 

A new year hail and greeting to Esthetic ! 
Fair blossom of the Lafayette Smithsonian, 
Whose fossil fauna from the depths Devonian, 
From ocean beds and barriers Caledonian, 
With here a polyp form, and there a bony 'un. 
Urge each itinerant and peripatetic. 
Made wise by hearing lectures theoretic, 
To put forth efforts very energetic 
To add to this display of the Esthetic. 

A new year hail and greeting to ^Esthetic ! 
Said thrice before, it nobly bears resaying ! 
Who, led by curiosity, comes straying 
Within its mystic walls, is fond of staying ; 
And soon you'll find him gratefully obeying 
The gifted priestess, as with nod magnetic. 
Without a syllable apologetic, 
She drags her intellectual athletic 
Into the ruthless forum of Esthetic. 



Neiv Year Greeting. 



A new year hail and greeting to Esthetic ! 

It might be echoed o'er and o'er forever ! 

Such ladies — whose accomplishments — I never ! 

Vivacious, learned, pretty, piquant, clever. 

Bright without art, they please without endeavor. 

No place for anchorite or grim ascetic ! 

No place for those whose hearts are sealed hermetic ! 

Nought but the pliant lip and sympathetic 

Should touch the bubbling chalice of .Esthetic. 



1879. 




JAPANESE CABINET. 



CROAKER AND CO. 



WM. RANKIN DURYEE, D.D. 



UST fifty-nine years ago, in the columns of the New - 
York Evening Post, appeared a few verses, bright 
and sparkling with allusions to the prominent 
persons and questions of the day. New-York then 
held a homogeneous American population. It was com- 
paratively a small city, hardly reaching to Canal Street, 
with its closely built houses. The Battery was bordered by 
the homes of wealthy families, and formed the meeting- 
place for loungers and promenaders. On the City Hall 
Park, Tammany Hall, now the Sun building, sent forth on 
election days its " Bucktails," as the political opponents of 
Gov. De Witt Clinton were termed, from their practice of 
wearing a deer's tail on the cap. On Broadway, op])osite to 
where Stewart's wholesale store now stands, Scudtler's 
Museum, the predecessor of Barnum's, gave notice of its 
attractions by a melancholy band in the balcony. And, 
since New-York was small and yet advancing, it was marked 
with a social and political life which was far more concen- 
trated than the city life of to-day. Politicians came near 
one another and dealt in personalities with a bitterness to 
which our Congressional scjuabbles seem tame, and then 



Croaker and Co. 



maintained their opinions over at Weehawken by shooting 
one another. In society there was just the same folly as 
now is displayed, and the satirist could find his theme at every 
party and ball. The writer of that time thus had a great 
advantage. If his prose or poetry were good, everybody 
(juoted it and he became at once a celebrity. And so when 
Mr. William Coleman, the scholarly editor of the Evening 
Post, drevi' attention to the lines to which we have referred, 
and pronounced them the " production of genius and taste ; " 
they were read and applauded through the whole city. We 
read them with different feelings, for their allusions belong 
to a misty past. We have forgotten Tammany's great 
Sachem, John Targee, in the contemplation of the later 
glories of Tweed and Kelly. General Jackson's popularity 
after the Florida campaign, and De Witt Clinton's struggle 
for an Erie Canal, no longer interest u§. Yet we must still 
eel there is a glow in the ashes — we hear still the faint chime 
of the bells which then pealed so loudly. Here are three of 
the five verses, which were signed " Croaker," and entitled : — 

To Ennui. 

" Avaunt, arch enemy of fun, 

Grim nightmare of the mind ! 
Which way, great Momus, shall I run, 
A refuge safe to find ? 



Croaker and Co. 



My puppy's dead ; Miss Rumor's breath 

Is stopt for lack of news, 
And Fitz is almost hyp'ed to death, 

And Lang has ^ot the blues. 

" I'm sick of General Jackson's toast. 

Canals are naught to me, 
Nor do I care who rules the roast, 

Clinton or John Targee : 
No stock in any bank I own, 

I fear no lottery shark. 
And if the Battery were gone, 

I'd ramble in the park. 

" In vain ! for like a cruel cat 

That sucks a child to death, 
Or like a Madagascar bat 

Who poisons with his breath ; 
The fiend, the fiend is on me still ; 

Come, Doctor, here's your pay, 
What lotion, potion, plaster, pill. 

Will drive the beast away ? " 

The next day other verses followed, " On Presenting 
the Freedom of the City to a Great General," the allusion, of 
course, being to Jackson. These began : — 



Croaker and Co. 



" The Board is met — the names are read ; 

Elate of heart, the glad Committee 
Declare the mighty man has said, 

' He'll take the freedom of the city." 
He thanks the Council and the Mayor, 

Presents them all his humble service. 
And thinks he's time enough to spare 

To sit an hour or two with Jervis." 

These verses were also signed " Croaker." Soon others 
followed over the f7om de plume of " Croaker, Jr." In every 
literary and political circle of the city every one was asking 
who wrote them ? Even Coleman was ignorant and inserted 
a paragraph in his paper requesting an introduction to the 
author. Just after the request, two young gentlemen, of 
about twenty-four years of age, came to Coleman's house in 
the evening and desired a private interview. The door was 
locked ; and then one of the visitors said to the veteran 
editor, "I am Croaker, and this, sir, is Croaker, Jr." They 
were overwhelmed by the editor's compliments. They told 
him that spending a morning with Dr. William Langstaff, an 
eccentric apothecary of the day, they had amused them- 
selves with writing burlesque rhymes on passing topics, and 
then had decided to send them to the Post. Mr. Coleman 
instantly claimed for his paper all they could produce, 



Croaker and Co. 



promising to maintain the greatest secrecy as to authorship. 
Imitations were already pouring upon him, and he wanted 
only originals. So matters were arranged, and for the next 
three months the series kef)t on until, in July, 1819, the 
strains ceased almost as abruptly as they had begun, with 
the lines on "A C'urtain Conversation." The names of the 
writers began to be whispered around. One was a young 
physician, Dr. Joseph Rodman Drake. The other was a 
banker's clerk, called Fitz (ireene Halleck. Their names 
are to-day linked together in the literary firmament ; and 
as long as New- York City has a pride in her history, the 
two will shine side by side. 

'I'lie intimacy between Drake and Halleck is said to 
have begun in a romantic way. In the year 1815 there was 
a slight acfiuaintance. In that year Drake, with Dr. De Kay, 
liis brother-in-law, had been surprised by a shower while 
walking on the Battery. Seeking a refuge, the two were 
thrown into Halleck's company. As the shower ended and 
a rainbov/ came out, Halleck whimsically remarked that it 
would be heaven for him just then " to ride on that rainbow 
and read Tom Campbell." The idea touched Drake's fancy. 
From that moment the two were fast friends. The plan of 
writing satirical and humorous verses on New-York City life 
was one for which both had special adaptation, connected 
as they were with the best circles, and keenly alive to all the 



Croaker and Co. 



" sensations " of the hour. The nom de plume of " Croaker," 
which was varied sometimes to " Croaker, Jr." and " Croaker 
and Co.," was taken from one of Goldsmith's amusing char- 
acters in th.e play of "The (lood-natured Man." That two 
persons were engaged was disclosed to the public in four 
verses addressed to " Croaker, Jr." when the series was well 
under way. We quote the first and last stanzas: — 

" Your hand my dear Junior ! we're all in a flame 
To see a few more of your flashes ; 
The ' Croakers ' forever ! I'm proud of the name : 
But, brother, I fear though our cause is the same 
We shall (]uarrel, like Brutus and Cassius. 

** Fun ! prosper the union ; smile, fate, on its birth ; 

Miss Atropos shut up your scissors, 
Together we'll range through the regions of mirth, 
A pair of bright gemini dropped on the earth, 

The Castor and Pollux of quizzers ! " 

Not only were the two equal to writing easily in all 
styles of metre, but the gossip of the city gave them con- 
stant themes. And so the Fast kept on printing the bright 
and witty poems filled with personal allusions, till one of the 
editors could write, " every person was on tenter-hooks ; 



Croaker and Co. 



neither knavery nor folly has slept quietly since our com- 
mencement." The secret of authorship was held for some 
months, and only after the midsummer of 1819, when the 
series ended, did the public learn to whom it must attribute 
its pleasure or its pain. In all there were about fifty sepa- 
rate poems. And though as merely clever vers de sod<fte 
they now mainly excite the antiquarian's interest ; yet one 
poem has become immortal. It was written by Drake ; but 
its last four lines, as a magnificent climax, were added by 
Halleck. It is the ode to the American flag, beginning :— 

" When freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there." 

Who does not know the ending ? 

" Forever float that standard-sheet ; 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us ? 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
And freedom's banner waving o'er us." 

As long as the Union stands, that poetic tribute of 
praise to the symbol of our nationality will thrill the hearts 
of those to whom our undivided land is dear. 

When the " Croakers " had left the field, Drake's health 



Croaker and Co. 



was very delicate. Consumption had already marked its 
victim. But his genius gave to his country one more note- 
worthy poem before he passed away. At West Point, in the 
Summer of 1819, Drake and Dr. De Kay were talking on 
poetry with Halleck and Fenimore Cooper. Speaking of the 
success of Sir Walter Scott, Halleck and Cooper contended 
that the streams of Scotland were far better adapted to 
poetic purpose, by their romantic and historical associations, 
than the rivers of our new world. It was also asserted that 
a poem with purely imaginative characters was an impossi- 
bility ; that humanity, with its known passions and needs, 
must somehow enter into every story. Drake took the 
opposite view, and two days afterwards read to his friends 
the "Culprit Fay." It is a fairy story with its scenes in the 
Hudson River Highlands ; although as Drake noted on a 
manuscript copy, " the reader will find some of the inhabi- 
tants of the salt water a' little further up the Hudson than 
they usually travel, but not too far for the purposes of poetry. ' ' 
No one who has ever read this exquisite poem but feels that 
its author was among the gifted few to whom the highest 
power of expression belongs. It was, alas ! his last earthly 
work. In one year, at the age of twenty-five, Joseph Rod- 
man Drake was buried in Westchester County, and on the 
simple grave his friend laid the tribute, the opening lines of 
which have become household words : — 



Croaker and Co. 



" Green be the turf above thee, 
Friend of my better days ; 
None knew thee but to love thee, 
None named thee but to praise." 

Fitz Greene Halleck survived his friend for forty-six 
years. They both belong to a fading past. The echoes of 
their songs have not, however, ceased, nor can they cease 
for years to come. In times when American authors were 
scarcely recognized, when Irving, and Paulding, and Cooper 
had only begun their career, when Bryant and Longfellow 
had but penned their youthful poems, Drake and Halleck 
won public attention to the fact that in our land some could 
woo the Muse as successfully as Byron, and Moore, and 
Campbell on the other side of the Atlantic. No one would 
pretend to claim for them the highest rank, but it can be 
safely asserted that they had poetic fervor and skill equal to 
companion singers, and that they wrote sufficient to adorn 
and render famous the land which gave them birth. 

It remains for us to briefly criticise the literary work of 
the longest-lived of the famous firm of "Croaker and Co." 
In the year 1821, Halleck published his longest poem, 
entitled " Fanny," which was marked by the general style 
and the personal allusions of the series in which he and 
Drake had been associated. Mingled with the satirical hits 



Croaker and Co. 



at the political and social follies of New- York are bits of 
fine description and humorous parodies of popular songs, 
which have been often quoted. One of the best of the latter 
is the imitation of Moore's song in " Lalla Rookh," known 
as the " Bower of Bendemeer." The parody begins : — 

" There's a barrel of porter at Tammany Hall, 

And the bucktails are swigging it all the night long. 
In the time of my boyhood 'twas pleasant to call 
For a seat and cigar 'mid the jovial throng." 

Asmarkingthe descriptive power of the poet, the lines on 
Weehawken are deservedly the most famous. They begin: — 

** Weehawken ! In thy mountain scenery yet. 
All we adore of Nature in her wild 
And frolic hour of infancy is met." 

And then, as he describes the clamberer of the cliff ; 
reaching the verge of the height, the poet writes : — 

" In such an hour he turns, and on his view 

Ocean and earth and heaven burst before him ; 

Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue 
Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him ; 

The city bright below ; and far away, 

Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. 



14 Croaker and Co. 



" Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, 

And banners floating in the sunny air, 
And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent. 

Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there 
In wild reality. When life is old. 

And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold 

" Its memory of this ; nor lives there one 

Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days 

Of happiness were passed beneath that sun. 
That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze 

Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, 
Nor feel the prouder of his native land." 

After the publication of " Fanny " and a companion 
poem called the "Recorder," Halleck's verses were eagerly 
sought for by the various periodicals of the day. He wrote 
sparingly, however. At last, in the midst of a popular wave 
of sympathy for the patriotic struggles of the Greeks against 
the Turks, the splendid ode of " Marco Bozzaris " appeared 
in the North American Revieiv. It ran like wildfire through 
our whole country, and its poetic vigor is still attested by 
the favor with which the uncorrupted taste of every school- 
boy orator regards it. What boy-speaker but has pumped 
his right arm up and down three times to " strike " the 



Croaker and Co. 15 



"unspeakable Turk" with Halleck's ringing cry, and then 
with a woeful face depicted the unfortunate Bozzaris in 
his remarkable effort of " bleeding at every vein." Jesting 
aside, it has always seemed to us that in " Marco Bozzaris " 
Halleck touches the summit of lyric power, and ranks with 
the very best of English writers. 

Worthy, however, to stand close to "Bozzaris," are the 
" Lines to Robert Burns," so marked by their melody and 
wonderful sympathy with the Ayrshire ploughman's charac- 
ter and work. The younger sister of the Scotch bard gave 
it as her judgement, that "Nothing finer has been written 
about Robert than Mr. Halleck's poem." The lovers of Burns 
seem certainly to confirm the decision by their constant 
quotations from the lines during the past half century. 
With this poem may be grouped Halleck's " Alnwick Cas- 
tle," "Red Jacket," and the unfinished sketches entitled 
"Connecticut" and "Wyoming." With these it seems that 
Halleck's genius exhausted itself. For the last thirty years 
of his life he wrote now and then at long intervals. There 
was seen the same easy rythm, and there sounded an echo 
of the ancient melody, but somehow the themes were trivial 
and the thoughts of little worth. Perhaps the poet in his 
personal life had grown weaker, as age and flattery com- 
bined against him. Perhaps the rise of a new school of 
poetry had dimmed our poet's glory. Whatever the reason. 



1 6 Croaker and Co. 



Halleck was compelled to live on his youthful reputation for 
nearly forty years. He died and was buried at Guildford, 
Connecticut, in 1867. As we know, there were friends and 
admirers enough to secure a lasting memorial of him in 
the Central Park, a memorial, it is to be feared, which 
"Croaker and Co." would have ridiculed unmercifully in 
the style of its art, had it ever come before their youthful 
gaze. 

In Halleck"s best work there is an exquisite versifica- 
tion and a general lyric power which cannot be resisted. 
In most of his poems there is also a blending of humor with 
sentiment, which he probably caught from his favorites, 
Byron and Moore. It differs from theirs, however, in 
always being healthy and pure. As such, its admission in 
descriptive poetry is to be defended, as it lights up the land- 
scape, or puts a bright side on a serious theme. To some 
critics it may seem an element of weakness, but we often 
wish Wordsworth himself could have smiled. The contrast 
between the ages of romance and reality could never have 
been better painted than in " Alnwick Castle," where, after 
describing " the lofty halls trod by the Percys of old fame," 
he writes of these prosaic years : — 

" Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, 
The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt. 



Croaker and Co. 17 



The Douglas in red herrings ; 
And noble name and cultured land, 
Palace, and park, and vassal-band, 
Are powerless to the notes of hand 

Of Rothschild or of Barings." 

With these criticisms we close. As we have looked 
back through nearly two generations, may we not crown 
Drake and Halleck as the earliest poet-laureates of New- 
York City ? In the streets and houses of our great commer- 
cial metropolis they first found fit themes for graceful and 
fervid verse, and by their very satire advanced their city's 
name. The " counterfeit presentments " of Fitz Greene 
Halleck in Central Park may seem at least to recall the 
golden day when the city had a character far different from 
that which is now stamped upon it, a day when its cultured 
and its intellectual life thought it no disgrace to be mingled 
with its political progress. There is one name in our own 
time, to which the years to come will grant yet higher honors 
than we have yielded to the " Croakers," one who by his 
prose and poetry has established his right to the same laure- 
ate crown. I need hardly name Edmund C. Stedman. For 
him we send up the aspiration of Horace, " Seriis in cxlion 
rcdeasy 

To end as we began, let us read one of the last 



Croaker and Co. 



Croaker poems which was first entitled " A Curtain 
Conversation," though afterwards included by Halleck in 
his own works, under another heading : — 

" ' Beside the nuptial curtain bright ' 
The bard of Eden sings, 
' Young love his constant lamp will light. 
And wave his purple wings.' 
But rain-drops from the clouds of care 

May bid that lamp be dim. 
And the boy Love will pout and swear 
'Tis then no place for him. 

" So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash, 
('Tis wrong to mention names,) 
When for her surly husband's cash 

She urged in vain her claims, 
' I want a little money, dear ; 
For Vandervoort and Flandin 
Their bill, which now has run a year. 
Tomorrow mean to hand in.' 

" ' More ? ' cried the husband, half asleep, 
' You'll drive me to despair : ' 
The lady was too proud to weep, 
And too polite to swear. 



Croaker and Co. 19 



She bit her lip for very spite, 

He felt a storm was brewing, 
And dreamed of nothing else all night 

But brokers, banks, and ruin. 

" He thought her pretty once, but dreams 

Have sure a wondrous power, 
For to his eye the lady seems 

Quite altered since that hour ; 
And Love, who, on their bridal eve, 

Had promised long to stay, 
Forgot his promise, took French leave, 

And bore his lamp away." 

Had Halleck lived in our time, we doubt whether he 
would have written those last verses. Creditors seem to be 
the least trouble we have in cities or in Congress. If a 
profane hand may venture to show the " modern improve- 
ments " which keep our lovely Mrs. Dashes in perfect ease, 
we would change to this : — 

" More ? " cried the husband, "yes, my dear, 
The cash shall be at call : 
No odious bill shall cause a tear, 
I'll fail before you fall." 



Croaker and Co. 



He spoke, and turned to gentle sleep 
Like child by breezes fanned, 

And smiling in his slumbers deep 
He looked like Mr. Bland. 

The morning came, the debt was paid, 

At ten per cent, 'twas scaled, 
While Beauty was again arrayed, 

And up Broadway she sailed ; 
And Love (not that you read about, 

All sacrifice and thrill. 
But modern Love) forgot to pout, 

And blessed the " silver-bill." 




JAMIE. 




AS SUNG BY MRS. CLEMENTINE LASAR STUDWELL. 



AMIE ! do you hear me calling in the gloaming, 
Calling to you laddie to come home ? 
Long and lone I'm watching, and my heart is won- 
Why upon the hill so late you roam. [d'ring, 

Jamie ! Jamie ! Are you never coming 
To the little heart that's waiting sad at home ? 



Ah ! if he were never, never more to leave me, 

Never to come back to me again. 

Sure I'm only dreaming and I know he's coming, — 

All the same the tears will fall like rain. 

Jamie ! Jamie ! Ah ! the fear is on me, 

And my heart is aching with dull pain. 



22 



Jamie. 



Jamie ! Echo ! Answer ! 

And it says he's coming — coming down the hillside, 

Well I know his voice, my bonnie lad. 

Now I hear him singing to the cattle blithely 

And the little sheep-bells tinkling glad. 

Jamie ! Jamie ! Ah the joy is on me, 

And my heart is going just like mad. 

Jamie ! Welcome to you laddie. 

Welcome in the gloaming, 

And my heart is crying welcome, Jamie. 




'•^~' '-'K^.i"^' 



THROUGH A WINDOW. 




LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 

(Read by the Author.) 

LIE here at rest in my chamber, 
And look through the window again, 
With eyes that are changed since the old time, 
And the sting of an exquisite pain. 



'Tis not much that I see for a picture, 
Through boughs that are green with spring, - 
A barn with its roof gray and mossy, 
And above it a bird on the wing ; 

Or, lifting my head a thought higher, 
Some hills and a village I know. 
And over it all the blue heaven. 
With a white cloud floating below. 



Ah ! once the roof was a prison. 

My mind and the sky were free, 

My thoughts with the birds went flying, 

And my hopes were a heaven to me. 



24 



Throus^h a JVi/idoiu. 



Now I come from the limitless distance 
Where I followed my youth's wild will, 
Where they press the wine of delusion 
That you drink and are thirsty still ; 

And I know why the bird with the springtime 
To the gnarled old tree comes back, — 
He has tried the south and the summer, 
He has felt what the sweet things lack. 

So I come with a sad contentment, 
With eyes that are changed I see : 
The roof means peace, not a prison, 
And heaven smiles down on me. 




RIP VAN WINKLE. 



PART I. 




HE following scene is taken from the first act of the 
celebrated play of " Rip Van Winkle," as recited 
by Mr. A. P. Burbank. 
The language is but slightly altered from the original. 

The characters introduced are : — 

Rip Van Winkle. 

Derrick Von Beekman, the villain of the play, who 
endeavors to get Rip drunk, in order to have him sign away his 
property to Von Beekman. 

Nick Vedder, the village inn-keeper. 

Scene. — The Village Inn. 

Present, Von Beekman, alojie. 

Enter Rip, shaking off the Children, who cling about him 
like flies to a lump of sugar. 

Rip {to the Children). Say ! hullo, dere, du Yacob 
Stein 1 du kleine spitzboob. Let dat dog Schneider alone. 



26 Rip Van Winkle. 



will you ? Dere, I tole you dat all de time, if you don'd let 
him alone he's goin' to bide you ! Why, hullo. Derrick ! 
how you was ? Ach, my ! Did you hear dem liddle fellers 
just now ? Dey most plague me crazy. Ha, ha, ha ! I 
like to laugh my outsides in every time I tink about it. 
Just now, as we was comin' along togedder, Schneider and 
me — I don'd know if you know Schneider myself ? Well, 
he's my dog. Well, dem liddle fellers, dey took Schneider, 
und — ha, ha, ha ! — dey — ha, ha ! — dey tied a tin kettle mit 
his tail ! Ha, ha, ha ! My gracious ! of you had seen dat 
dog run ! My, how scared he was ! Veil, he was a-runnin' 
an' de kettle was a-bangin' an' — ha, ha, ha ! you believe it, 
dat dog, he run right betivixt me an my legs ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
He spill me und all dem liddle fellers down in de mud 
togedder. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Von Beekman. Ah, yes, that's all right Rip, very 
funny, very funny ; but what do you say to a glass of liquor. 
Rip? 

Rip. Well, now, Derrick, what do' I generally say to a 
glass ? I generally say its a good ting, don'd I ? Und I 
generally say a good deal more to what is in it, dan to de 
glass. 

Von B. Certainly, certainly. Say, hello, there ! Nick 
Vedder, bring out a bottle of your best ! 

Rip. Dat's right — fill 'em up. You wouldn't believe it, 



Rip Van Winkle. 27 



Derrick, but dat is de first one I have had to-day. I guess 
maybe de reason is, I couldn't got it before. Ah, Derrick, 
my score is too big ! Well, here is your good health und 
your family's — may they live long and prosper. {They 
drink.) Ach ! you may well smack your lips, und go ah, 
ah ! over dat liquor. You don'd give me such liquor like 
dat every day, Nick Vedder. Well, come on, fill 'em up 
again. Git out mit dat water, Nick Vedder, I don'd want 
no water in my liquor. Good liquor and water, Derrick, is 
just like man und wife, dey dond agree ivell togedder — dat's 
me und my wife, anyway. Well, come on again. Here is 
your good health und your family's, and may dey all live 
long und prosper ! 

Nick Vedder. That's right, Rip ; drink away, and 
"drown your sorrows in the flowing bowl." 

Rip. Drown my sorrows ? Ya, dat's all very well, but 
she dond droiun. My wife is my sorrow und you can't 
drown her ; she tried it once, but she couldn't do it. What, 
didn't you hear about dat, de day what Gretchen she liked to 
got drownded ? Ach, my ; dat's de funniest ting in de 
world. I'll tell you all about it. It was de same day what 
we got married. I bet you I don'd forgot dat day so long 
what I live. You know dat Hudson River what dey git dem 
boats over — well, dat's de same place. Well, you know dat 
boat what Gretchen she was a-goin' to come over in, dat got 



Rip Van Winkle. 



upsetted — ya, just went righd by der boddom. But she wasnt 
in de boat. Oh, no ; if she had been in de boat, well, den, 
maybe she might have got drownded. You can't tell any- 
ting at all about a ting like dat ! 

Von B. Ah, no ; but I'm sure, Rip, if Gretchen were 
to fall into the water now, you would risk your life to save 
her. 

Rip, Would I ? Well, I am not so sure about dat my- 
self. When we was first got married ? Oh, ya ; I know I 
would have done it den, but I don'd know how it would be 
now. But it would be a good deal more my duty now as it 
was den. Don'd you know. Derrick, when a man gits mar- 
ried a long time — mit his wife, he gits a good deal attached 
mit her, und it would be a good deal more my duty now as 
it was den. But I don'd know. Derrick, I am afraid if 
Gretchen should fall in de water und should say, " Rip, 
Rip ! help me oud " — I should say, " Mrs. Van Winkle, I 
will just go home and tink about it." Oh, no. Derrick ; if 
Gretchen fall in de water now she's got to swim, I told you 
dat — ha, ha, ha, ha ! Hullo ! dat's her a-comin' now ; I 
guess it's better I go oud ! {Exit Rip. 



^ ^ i5 



Rip Van Winkle. 29 



PART II. 

Shortly after his conversation with Von Beekman, Rip's 
wife catches him carousing and dancing upon the village 
green with the pretty girls. She drives him away in no very 
gentle fashion, and he runs away from her only to go and 
get more drunk than before. Returning home after night- 
fall in a decidedly muddled condition, he puts his head 
through the open window at the rear, not observing his 
irate wife, who stands in ambush behind the clothes-bars 
with her ever-ready broomstick, to give him a warm recep- 
tion ; but seeing only his little daughter Meenie, of whom 
he is very fond, and who also loves him tenderly. Rip 
says : — 

Meenie I Meenie, my darlin' ! 
Meenie. Hush-sh-h. 

{Shaking her finger^ to indieate the presence of her mother?^ 

Rip. Eh ! what's de matter ? I don'd see noting, my 
darlin'. 

Meenie. 'Sh-sh-sh ! 

Rip. Eh ! what ? Say, Meenie, is de ole wild cat 
home ? (Gretchen catches him qnickly by the hair?) Oh, 
oh ! say, is dat you, Gretchen ? Say, dere, my darlin', my 



30 Rip Van Winkle. 



angel, don'd do dat. Let go my head, wond you ? Well, 
den, hold on to it so long what you like. (Gretchen 
releases him.) Dere, now, look at dat, see what you done — 
you gone pull out a whole handful of hair. What you want 
to do a ting like dat for? You must want a bald-headed 
husband, don'd you ? 

Gretchen. Who was that you called a wild cat ? 

Rip. Who was dat I call a wild cat ? Well, now, let 
me see, who was dat I call a wild cat ? Dat must a' been de 
same time I come in de winder dere, wasn't it ? Yes, I 
know, it was de same time. Well, now, let me see. {Sud- 
denly.) It was de dog Schneider dat I call it. 

Gretchen. The dog Schneider ? That's a likely story. 

Rip. Why, of course it is a likely story — ain't he my 
dog ? Well, den, I call him a wild cat just so much what I 
like, so dere now. (Gretchen begins to weep.) Oh, well ; 
dere, now, don'd you cry, don'd you cry, Gretchen ; you 
hear what I said ? Lisden now. If you don'd cry, I never 
drink anoder drop of liquor in my life. 

Gretchen {crying). Oh, Rip ! you have said so, so 
many, many times, and you never kept your word yet. 

Rip. Well, I say it dis time, and I mean it. 

Gretchen. Oh, Rip ! if I could only trust you. 

Rip. You rausin't suspect me. Can't you see repentance 
in my eye ? 



Rip Van Winkle. 31 



Gretchen. Rip, if you will only keep your word, I 
shall be the happiest woman in the world. 

Rip. You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder drop so 
long what I live, if you don'd cry. 

Gretchen. Oh, Rip, how happy we shall be ! And 
you'll get back all the village, Rip, just as you used to have 
it ; and you'll fix up our little house so nicely ; and you and 
I; and our darling little Meenie, here — how happy we shall be ! 

Rip. Dere, dere, now ! you can be just so happy what 
you like. Go in de odder room, go along mit you ; I come 
in dere pooty quick. {^Exit Gretchen and Meenie.) My ! 
I swore off fon drinkin' so many, many times, and I never 
kep' my word yet. ( Taking out bottle?) I don'd believe 
dere is more as one good drink in dat bottle, anyway. It's a 
pity to waste it ? You goin' to drink dat ? Well, now, if 
you do, it is de last one, remember dat, old feller. Well, 
here is your goot held, und — 

{Efiter Gretchen, suddenly^ who snatches the bottle from him.) 

Gretchen. Oh, you brute ! you paltry thief ? 

Rip. Hold on dere, my dear, you will spill de liquor. 

Gretchen. Yes, I will spill it, you drunken scoundrel ! 
( Throwing aivay the bottle. Thafs the last drop you ever 
drink under this roof.) 



32 Rip Van Winkle. 



Rip {slowly, after a momenfs silence, as if stunned by her 
severity'). Eh ! what ? 

Gretchen. Out, I say ! you drink no more here. 

Rip. What ? Gretchen, are you goin' to drive me away ? 

Gretchen. Yes ! Acre by acre, foot by foot, you have 
sold everything that ever belonged to you for liquor. Thank 
Heaven this house is mine, and you can't sell it. 

Rip {rapidly sobering, as he begins to realize the gravity of 
the situation). Yours ? yours ? Ya, you are right — it is 
yours ; I have got no home. (/// broken tones, almost 
sobbing.) But where will I go ? 

Gretchen. Anywhere ! out into the storm, to the 
mountains. There's the door — never let your face darken 
it again. 

Rip. What, Gretchen ! are you goin' to drive me away 
like a dog on a night like dis ? 

Gretchen. Yes ; out with you ! You have no longer a 
share in me or mine. ( Breaking dorvn icith the intensity of 
her passion^ 

Rip {very slowly aiid quietly, but with great intensity). 
Well, den, I will go ; you have drive me away like a dog, 
Gretchen, and I will go. But remember, Gretchen, after 
what you have told me here to-night, I can never come back. 
You have open de door for me to go ; you will never open 
it for me to return. But, Gretchen, you tell me dat I have 



Rip Van Winkle. 



ZZ 



no longer a share here. {Points at the child, who kneels cry- 
ing at his feet.) Good-by {innth much emotioii), my darlin'. 
God bless you ! Don'd you nefer forgit your fader. Gretchen* 
{luith a great sob), I wipe de disgrace from your door. Good- 
by, good-by ! {Exit Rip into the storm. 





STATE CROWN OF ENGLAND. 



GEMS. 



ERMINNIE A. SMITH. 




OLYGONAL as many of the gems of which it treats, 
it would seem impossible that from some one of 
its many sides, this subject should fail to interest 
the most indifferent person, who will but lend it the slight- 
est attention. Those who are only interested in gems as 
adornments, or as aids to beauty, will often find it useful to be 
able to judge correctly of the value of their jewels, the man- 
ner of cutting them, and the most artistic mode of adapting 
them to their beauty ; to such it might also be interesting 
to know that the belles of ancient Egypt, forty centuries ago, 
were as fond of gems as are the fashionable women of to-day. 
The jewels found in ancient sarcophagi testify that the 



Gems. 35 



fair ones of those remote days adorned their brows with dia- 
dems, and their throats with necklaces of pearl, while they 
wore bracelets, garters and anklets set with amber ; and 
even the fingers of the men were laden with rings. 

But these beautiful productions of nature are not only 
favorites with the luxurious children of wealth and fashion, 
they have been studied with passionate devotion by men 
whose valuable discoveries in the domain of science have 
made their names beacons in the paths of learning. 

The so-called "phenomenal gems," which act upon the 
light in a peculiar manner, producing such striking effects as 
are familiar to us in the cat's-eye, the star-sapphire, star- 
ruby, tourmaline, moon-stone, and in that very rare gem 
Alexandrite, are, in some respects, the most interesting, 
and, at the present time, the most costly and fashionable. 

The commercial aspect of this subject is startling. The 
ancient Phoenicians, almost the founders of commerce, were 
constantly in search of lands producing the coveted treasures 
of earth. Certain it is that the cold, bleak countries of 
northern Europe would have had but little charm for the 
southern peoples were it not for the quantities of amber 
which transformed them into a paradise. There are also 
distinct records of extensive commerce in precious stones 
during the times of David and Solomon. In David's charge 
to Solomon we find these words : " Now I have prepared 



36 Gems. 



with all my might for the house of my God, the gold for 
things to be made of gold ; onyx stones and stones to be 
set, glistening stones and of divers colors, all manners of 
precious stones and marbles in abundance." Later, we find 
Cassar's first invasion of Great Britain, so fruitful in'different 
results, to have been in search of rose-pearls, the fame of 
which had reached the shores of Italy. After the discovery 
of America, the Spaniards who landed on terra firma, found 
the savages decked with necklaces and bracelets of pearl, 
and lost no time in discovering where they were found ; 
cities soon rose in splendor and affluence where the pearl- 
oyster grew, entirely supported by the profits of those sea- 
born gems. When, from the indiscriminate destruction of 
the shells, the banks became exhausted, those fair cities sunk 
into insignificance and not a vestige of them now remains. 
The same story might be told of many an ancient mart. 
Why does the word golconda seem to glitter and sparkle, if 
not that it is but a synonyme of the diamond ? This is but 
a glance at the commercial side of the subject, but later we 
may perceive its artistic, archaeological, historical, poetic and 
religious aspects. 

Pliny says that in gems we have all the majesty of na- 
ture gathered into a small compass, and that in no other of 
her works has she produced anything so admirable. " The 
exhibition of a collection of precious stones," says Madame 



Gems. 37 



Barrera, " always proves a great attraction, and those who 
bestow upon them the attention to which their rarity and 
beauty entitle them, will be gradually led to acquire some 
knowledge of their geography, physics, chemistry and crys- 
tallography, and of the countries whence commerce brings 
these fair productions." In contrast with the homely maxim 
of Poor Richard, " Economy is wealth," we have the aphorism 
of the great French statesman Thiers, Le luxe est Vun des 
sig/ies de la civilisation ; while admitting that the private 
individual, who lives in a style beyond his means, robs not 
only his family but society, he assumes, on the other hand, 
that those possessing the means, but who, through sordid 
economy, refuse to surround their homes with objects to ele- 
vate the soul above the common-place level of life, not only 
rob their families of these refining influences, but are guilty 
of a crime toward the intelligent artisan whose success con- 
stitutes the prosperity of the country. And may not this be 
true in a broader sense, when those of princely fortunes fail 
to contribute to our national museums ? It has been truly re- 
marked that when leaders of society can purchase diamonds 
the poorer classes can buy bread, but when the former can 
only buy bread, then must the latter die of hunger. It has 
been written, " man cannot live by bread alone," and Babinet 
adds," he lives by all that the Creator has implanted in his soul." 
Looking backward, into the dim pre-historic past, we 



38 Gems. 



find the amber bead, the roughly hewn jade war-club, the 
many colored jasper arrow-head, the bit of shining mica, all 
telling the unwritten story of the inborn, instinctive love for 
the beautiful of earth. Trace the history of the most ancient 
of all treasures, precious stones, down to the present day, 
and we follow also the history of civilization. Since Prome- 
theus inserted into one of the links of his iron chain a gem 
from the Caucasian rock to which he was bound, thus form- 
ing the first ring as a symbol of his freedom, poor humanity 
has continued, as priest or dignitary, sovereign or subject, 
striving to possess the rarest and most precious stones to in- 
dicate rank, command homage, enhance personal charms or 
indicate a triumph. 

The great Haiiy terms crystals the '' flowers of miner- 
alogy ; " gems, then, are the rare exotics of the vast mineral- 
garden. Humboldt, from Chimborazo's height, uttered the 
sentiment so beautifully poetized by Mrs. Browning : — 

" On the mountain is freedom, the breath of decay 
Never sullies the soft summer air ; 
Oh ! nature is perfect wherever we stray, 
'Tis man that deforms it with care." 

However true this may be regarding the grand and 
picturesque in nature, and even in her more circumscribed 
realms, as manifest in the wonderful forces which direct 



Gems. 39 



the crystallization of every mineral, causing each to as- 
sume its own distinct form in whatever part of the world 
it may be found, still, among the aristocracy of minerals, the 
"rare exotics," the pruning knife of the lapidary must cut 
the facets before the serene, celestial soul can be revealed, or 
the haughty, regal gleam of their lustrous beauty can charm 
our eyes. Precious stones are not, as is generally believed, 
different in composition from common stones, but nature has 
her secret in the arrangement of the molecules. The dia- 
mond is only a little coal, but crystallized coal. The basis 
of the ruby, topaz and sapphire is aluminum oxide, the prin- 
cipal constituent of ordinary potter's clay, but in these 
minerals it is crystallized; so in all the varieties of quartz, they 
are all one with the ordinary cobble stone, only differing by 
their crystallization and coloring matter. Quartz, in its more 
common forms, composesnearlyhalf of therocks, and has been 
termed the " back bone " of the earth's crust ; but when crys- 
tallized, pure and pellucid, it is the beautiful rock-crystal ; 
when colored by oxide of manganese, the amethyst; when im- 
pregnated by the same, in floral-like forms, it is the moss-agate. 
Again, when colored by the oxide of iron, " the great colorist 
of nature," it is the jasper, sard or carnelian ; by the silicate of 
iron, green jasper ; when colored by nickel it is the chrysoprase. 
When silica in solution is deposited in cavities of rocks, 
agates or onyx are formed, whose layers or stripes take their 



40 Gems. 



color from the rocks through which the silica has passed, 
and, when the cavity is only partially filled, we have geodes. 
The emerald and aqua-marine, only differ in the amount of 
coloring matter. In all this it would seem that the mighty 
creative power had chosen to manifest its omnipotence by 
producing the most valuable substances from the most com- 
mon elements. 

It has long been the feeling among cultured Americans, 
whose tastes have been educated and minds enriched by 
travel in foreign lands, that we, as a nation, are far behind 
other countries, both in the knowledge of, and apparent in- 
terest in, the very comprehensive subject of gems. The 
explanation is not difficult. When the intelligent English- 
man visits his metropolis, he naturally directs his steps 
toward that " eternity of wonders," the British Museum. 
There, gathered from the four corners of the earth, are the 
marvellous and beautiful of nature, antiquity and art. He 
finds the mineral kingdom represented in its varied, natural 
crystals, and exquisite gems engraved by masters unrivalled 
in the glyptic art. In the Kensington Museum is the beau- 
tiful collection of the Duke of Devonshire, in that perfect- 
ness which only wealth, taste, opportunity and leisure could 
have given it ; he visits the Tower, endeared by its many 
historic associations, and, in the " Regalia," his heart 
swelling with national pride, he beholds diamonds which 



Gems. 41 



appear to throb with a living radiance, rubies and emeralds 
which seem to dissolve in a liquid light. So with each 
European nation. Who that enters the green vault at Dres- 
den can ever forget the treasures there displayed to the en- 
chanted gaze ? 

The international celebration of our centennial year was 
not without great educational results in this direction, and 
the crowds ever surrounding the precious stones of the Rus- 
sian department, the wonderful Austrian opals, Mexican onyx, 
and the engraved gems in the department of " Starr & Mar- 
cus " evidenced the taste which only needs directing. While 
on the threshold of this our second century, may not the 
American heart beat with pride and hope when aware of the 
treasures our own metropolis is accumulating? The Metro- 
politan Museum abounds in specimens of ancient art, which 
disclose to the reflective mind the tastes of forty centuries 
ago, and the late accession of the exquisite collection of 
antique gems, the life-garnerings of Mr. King, of London, 
to the same museum, have transformed it, educationally, into 
a rival of many a foreign museum. 

In our historical rooms also can be studied many inter- 
esting gems of antiquity, while at the School of Mines of Co- 
lumbia College, can be seen nearly all the known minerals in 
their perfect natural crystals, their arrangement so simplified 
that even the unscientific can understand and enjoy them. 



42 Gems. 



The recent clos erelationship effected between the United 
States and China, by means of our great Pacific railroads, 
has brought into this country many beautifully carved speci- 
mens of the heretofore almost unseen and unknown sub- 
stance jade, which, although mostly confined to private 
collections, are often exposed at our loan exhibitions ; archae- 
ological specimens, however, in the form of celts and tikis, 
can be seen at the American Museum of Natural History. 
Add to these facts the extreme politeness manifested in the 
palatial establishment of Tiffany & Co., whose " light of 
the sun " outweighs the Kohinoor by more than nineteen 
carats, and where can Americans of to-day find an excuse 
for ignorance ? 

Gems formed the chief item in the paraphernalia of 
Eastern imagery. Infinite and very beautiful are the meta- 
phors in which the oriental poets have used them. In the 
Talmud it is said that Noah used no other light than that 
furnished by precious stones. A Rabbinical story tells us that 
on approaching Egypt, Abraham locked Sarah in a chest, that 
none might behold her dangerous beauty. But when he was 
come to the place of paying custom, the collectors said, " Pay 
us the custom," and he said, "I will pay the custom." They said 
to him, " Thou earnest clothes," and he said to them, " I will 
pay for clothes." Then they said to him, "Thou carriest 
gold," and he answered, " I will pay for gold ; " on this they 



Gems. 43 



said to him, "Surely thou carriest the finest of silk;" he 
replied, " I will pay custom for silk." Then said they unto 
him, " Surely it must be pearls that thou takest with thee," 
and he answered, " I will pay for pearls." Seeing they could 
name nothing of value for which the patriarch was not will- 
ing to pay custom, they said, " It cannot be but that thou 
open the box and let us see what is within." So they 
opened the box, and the whole land of Egypt was illumined 
by the lustre of Sarah's beauty, far exceeding that of 
pearls. 

Modern poets have also revelled in the imagery of gems. 
Our immortal Shakspeare puts into the mouth of his charm- 
ing Ariel, these almost prophetic words : — 

" Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls, that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea-change. 

Into something rich and strange." 

Thus anticipating science by three hundred years, for it is 
only lately that a learned chemist has advanced the theory 
that the coloring of the emerald is decayed organic 
matter. 



44 Gems. 



Again, we hear Clarence relating his dream : — 

" Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ; 
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl. 
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes. 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems 
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by." 

Miss Proctor's sailor l)oy, describing his mother's visit, 
says : 

" Arrayed for some great feast she came. 

With stones that shone and burnt like flame 

Wound round her neck, like some fair snake. 
And set like stars within her hair. 

They sparkled so, they seemed to make 
A glory everywhere." 

But Moore's oft-quoted line, " Rich and rare were the gems 
she wore," never had a closer application than to the match- 
less parure v/orn by the lady of the English ambassador at 



Gems. 45 



the coronation of one of the late Russian Emperors, at Mos- 
cow. King describes the parure as being composed of a 
choice selection from the antique collection of the Duke of 
Devonshire, and while others were vicing in the splendor of 
their jewels, in which the noble families of Russia are very 
rich, none attracted so much attention as the Countess of 
Granville, whose was the triumph of art over material 
wealth. Others displayed a blaze of diamonds, but it was 
for the English lady to assert a higher splendor, for if their 
jewels were costly hers were positively priceless. 

The taste for gems, as we have seen, dates back to the 
most remote ages. In ancient Egypt many jewels were cut 
into the form of scarabei, or sacred beetles, of which we have 
numerous specimens in our own museums, taken from mum- 
my pits. The ancient monarchs, with their fondness for 
display, decorated their horses' trappings, their persons and 
thrones with gems, even before they knew how to cut them, 
and attributed magical properties to them. A particular 
stone was thought to be sacred to each month, and the 
twelve were called the "zodiac stones;" certain ones 
were supposed to symbolize the Apostles, and various were 
the superstitions prevalent even among the learned of that 
ancient time. No doubt the properties which we prize at 
the present day, such as color, brilliancy and hardness, were 
equally prized in the remotest times, but above and beyond 



46 Gems. 



these obvious characters, there was the higher value derived 
from their metaphysical virtues. Some of these virtues were 
of a purely spiritual character, such as the power attributed 
to so many gems of dispelling vicious propensities and of 
inspiring purity of life in the owner. Others were of less 
subtle nature, and were medicinal rather than metaphysical. 
In order to cure disease it was in most cases considered suf- 
ficient to wear the stone, when its curative power would be 
brought into play. In other cases resource was had to 
administering the powdered gem. These superstitions natu- 
rally led men to seek eagerly for stones so marvellously en- 
dowed, for who would not diligently seek and fondly cherish 
an object which was at the same time a specific against 
disease, a personal adornment and a guardian ? 

Superstitions regarding stones of a green color are more 
wide-spread than any other. The reputed virtues of the 
emerald alone would fill a chapter, while nephrite, or jade, 
derives its name from its medicinal qualities. Sir Walter 
Raleigh, who first imported it into Europe, having given 
great encomiums regarding its virtues. So great were the 
supernatural powers attributed to jades, even in ancient Mex- 
ico, that there is a legend which asserts that Quetzalcoatl, a 
most ancient law-giver and High Priest, was begotten by one 
of these sacred jades placed in the bosom of the goddess 
Chimalma. 



Gems. 47 



The Romans carried the taste for gems to a high pitch. 
Lucan's description of the banqueting hall in which Cleo- 
patra feasted Caesar, seems more like the coinage of a poet's 
brain than sober history ; " Columns of porphyry, ivory 
porticos, pavements of onxy, thresholds of tortoise-shell, in 
each spot of which was set an emerald, furniture inlaid with 
yellow jasper, couches studded with gems, met the bewildered 
eye of the laurel-crowned Roman, while his heart was en- 
thralled and his judgement subdued by the beauty of the 
royal hostess, on whose brow glittered the treasured gems of 
a long line of Pharaohs." The oft-told story, however, of 
the same queen having dissolved in vinegar a pearl costing 
a hundred thousand aurios, and drinking it in the presence 
of Antony, is, unfortunately not so authentic, for it is well- 
known at the present day that no acid the human stomach 
can endure is capable of dissolving a pearl. King suggests 
that the wily Egyptian lady probably swallowed the pearl in 
some more agreeable potation than vinegar, feeling sure of 
its ultimate recovery. Paulina, the wife of Caligula, cov- 
ered her dress with gems of untold worth, and that Emperor 
built ships entirely of cedar, having sterns inlaid with gems, 
while Incitatus, his horse, wore a collar of pearls and drank 
wine from a bowl of crystal. The shoes of Heliogobalus 
were studded with gems, and in the golden house of Nero 
the panels were of mother-of-pearl, enriched with gems. 



48 Gems. 



Constantine entered Rome in a chariot of gold adorned 
with precious stones, wliich shot forth rays of light. 

But how insignificant is all this seeming magnificence 
when compared with the barbaric splendor of Hydar Ali, 
Tippo Saib, Tamerlane, Nadir Shah, Aurungzebe, and the 
last ruler of the Mohammedan dynasty, which, for seven 
hundred years, held the reins of power in India, the wonder- 
ful Shah Jehan. Surely the descriptions of the power and 
glory of this great Mogul seem like the romance of the " Ara- 
bian Nights," and when compared to the even moremarvellous 
tale of Lallah Rookh, whose " Vale of Cashmere " was the 
scene of all his splendor, proves that fact is, indeed, stranger 
than fiction. An imperial hall, which was only an accessory to 
the great palace at Delhi, was constructed of white marble 
worked into the most delicate forms ; its whole surface, pil- 
lars, walls, arches, roof and even pavements were inlaid 
with the richest and most exquisite designs in arabesque, 
the fruits and flowers being represented by gems so delicately 
entwined that they looked like embroidery on white satin, 
so exquisitely was the mosaic executed in precious stones. 
Thirty-five specimens of carnelian were employed in a single 
leaf of carnation, and some flowers contained no less than 
three hundred different stones, such as amethysts, carnelians, 
garnets, blood stones, lapis lazuli and colored crystals. The 
walls and columns were inlaid with inscriptions from the 



Gems. 4p 



Koran, the whole having the appearance of some rich work 
of the loom. In the centre of this hall stood the wonderful 
Peacock Throne, a chef-d'ceuvre, representing ^150,000,000 ! 
This wondrous work of art, on either side of which stood 
the ever-present, power-symbolizing umbrella, was ascended 
by steps of silver, at the summit of which rose a massive seat 
of pure gold, with a canopy of the same metal inlaid with 
jewels. The chief feature of the design was a peacock with 
his tail spread, the natural colors being represented by pure 
gems. A vine was introduced into the design, the leaves 
and fruits of which were of precious stones, whose rays were 
reflected from mirrors set in large pearls. Beneath all this 
glory sat the Grand Mogul, the crown on his head being 
worthy of the throne upon which he sat. It had twelve 
points, each surmounted by a diamond of the purest water, 
while the central point terminated in a single pearl of extra- 
ordinary size, the whole including many valuable rubies, 
and having an estimated value of eleven millions of dollars ! 
To this add one thing more, the Kohinoor diamond on his brow, 
and you have the Grand Mogul in all his glory as he sat upon 
his Peacock Throne, surrounded by Mohammedan princes, by 
turbaned and jeweled Rajahs, amid splendor which only the 
gorgeous East could furnish. Truly could the " light of the 
harem," the veiled Nourmahal, sing within such enchanting 
walls: "Andif there be an Elysium on earth,itis this, itisthis." 



5° 



Gems. 



The student of gems finds much useful information on 
the subject disclosed in many parts of the Bible. The 
breast-plate of the High Priest is the first instance on record 




BREAST-PLATE OF THE HIGH PRIEST. 



of the art of engraving on gems. Although it may seem in- 
credible, archseologists hope this art may yet be discovered, 
and when we consider that this age has witnessed the resusci- 
tation of the signet-ring of Sennacherib, and that we have in 
New York the necklace of Menes, the father of Pharaoh, who 
was the contemporary of Moses, the idea may not seem 



Gems. 5 1 



chimerical. We find from the engraving of that breast-plate, 
thirty centuries ago, the glyptic art steadily advancing and 
keeping pace with her sister art, sculpture, often copying 
some colossal statue and minimizing it to the dimensions of 
a gem, thus preserving an exact representation of some chef- 
d'xitvre, perhaps long lost to the world. It is affirmed by 
King that the engravers of the Alexandrian and Augustine 
ages were rivals of the most famous workers in marble and 
bronze, and that they often contrived to enclose within the 
narrowness of a little agate stone all the complicated details 
of an'event in history or a fable in mythology, and make them 
stand forth in beautiful relief as a cameo, or sink as beau- 
tifully into depth as an intaglio, with all that truth of design 
and power of expression which characterized the excellence 
of the largest works of the most consummate masters. 

To the jesthetic mind of the many-sided Goethe, engraved 
gems were a never-failing source of enjoyment, and who 
knows of how many poems they were the inspiration ? 

Although there are many gems of exquisite design by 
modern artists, compared with the past the glyptic art may 
virtually be said to have closed its career of ages. 

In the institution of the Levitical Priesthood we find 
the first engraved precious stones always presented before 
the Great Jehovah. In the Christian Church the High 
Priest of our profession has ascended. Then, if we can 



5 2 Gems. 



never, with our mortal vision, behold this most ancient of 
insignia, may we not hope to behold it in the light of an 
eternal day within the walls of that new Jerusalem, whose 

* * * " Each foundation glittereth fair * 

With heavenly stones, half dimmed with earthly names. 

As if to veil from mortal eyes their flames, 

Lest their unshaded brightness should excel 

All power of tongue to tell, — 

Or lest, with eyes transpierced with pain, 

The holy seer had fallen blind, — 

Whereby, beheld too plain. 

The vision, unrecorded to mankind, 

Had come and passed in vain. 

" And those illustrious stones — the mystic twelve — 
Each for a tribe of Israel's line, — more fiercely shine 
Than any for which mortals delve 
In any earthly mine ! — 

" For not Golconda nor Brazil, 
In cavern dark, or deep dug hill, 
Illumes the slave's dim lighted glance 
With that fair spark which happy chance 



* From Thou and I. 



Gems. 53 



Unblinds his searching eyes to see, 

And, for his finding, sets him free \— 

Not this soul-ransoming gem, 

Nor Caesar's glittering diadem 

Hath power to burn, and blaze, 

And charm th' enchanted gaze. 

Like those fair jewels in the rays 

Of that immortal light 

Of which the mortal eye bears not the sight, 

But whose white glory the Archangels praise. 

•5V ft * « Now lend thine ear and listen 
While, like the Patmian, I declare 
How those twelve jewels glisten, 
And what the names they bear. 

" The first, a jasper, — which in Ispahan, 
When brought by camel of the caravan. 
Is called a diamond in the speech of man ; 
The next, a sapphire, — whose celestial blue 
Gives the Tyrrhenian waves their hue ; 
The third, that Chalcedonian stone 
Which men no longer find, 
Yet once on earth was known 
In that old city of the Blind 



54 Gems. 



Which dust of deserts since has overblown ; 

The fourth, an emerald, — glittering green 

As when, upon an olive's rind, 

A drop of dew is seen ; 

The fifth, a sard, — that stone of flesh 

That ever bleeds afresh, 

And stands for Calvary's blood-red sign ; 

The sixth, a ruby, — set to shine. 

Like th' ensanguined wine 

That filled the Holy Grail ; 

The seventh, a chrysolite, — 

So golden bright 

It makes Aurora dim and pale ; 

The eighth, a beryl, — sparkling white, 

Like moonlit frost, 

As seen by hunters who, at night. 

Mount Caucasus have crossed ; 

The ninth, a topaz, — hazel-eyed 

Like Lilith, Adam's earlier bride 

Whom first he loved and lost. 

Ere Eve was moulded from his side ; 

The tenth, a chrysoprase, — 

Flashing, with yellow rays, 

Up, down, a thousand ways, 

Through all that region wide ; 



Gems. 55 



Th' eleventh, a jacinth, — fairer than if dyed 

By sun and wind 

With colors of that blossom, lush and pied, 

With which its name is twinned ; 

The last, an amethyst, — whose font of fire 

Casts forth a purple jet 

More orient than the east, — 

As if the day should rise but not to set, 

And the red dawn, with all its gay adorning, 

Shoidd linger on in one immortal morning ! 

' Oh, fair that city is to see 
That lureth thee and me ! 

' And each of all the twelve great portals 
Is one great pearl, — 
Gold-banded, like a ring of fair device ; 
With adamantine hinges — ever-during ; 
Each pearl, with lustre so alluring 
That though beyond the gaze of mortals, — 
Above the earth's wide whirl, — 
It sweetly doth entice 

The souls of men to wish them in that paradise ; 
Each pearl of greater price 
Than in the parable is told 
Of him who all his treasures sold, 



56 



Gems. 



His silver and his gold, 

And went and bought with these 

That jewel of the seas, — 

That gem, all-precious, pure, and rare, 

With which none others could compare- 

Except the pearls those portals hold, 

Ten thousand times more fair ! 

'^ And at each portal an Archangel waits 
To keep wide open, those eternal gates 
For he who saw was bid to say, 

' The gates shall not be shut by day. 
And there is no night there.' " 




THE LAST RIDE. 



DAVID L. PROUDFIT.* 




UR turn at last. Now, Roland, go ! 
A triumph waits for us, you know. 
The clown looks on, with hard grimace 
Upon his leering, painted face ; 
The tyrant of the ring walks round 
And cracks his whip with pistol sound ; 
The crowd applauds — now faster yet. 
With galop and with pirouette ! 
Our blood is up, we know no fear, 
A whirlwind in our mad career ! 
My horse and I, away we go ! — 
What pain is this that chills me so ? 



A pain that always comes to me 
With bitter envy when I see 
A maiden fair, with shining hair, 
Like yonder girl that nestles there. 
And looks up to her lover's face 
With wistful eyes and tender grace. 



* Pelie Arkwrieht. 



The Last Ride. 



Alas ! for me no eyes are fond, 
I hold no heart in silken bond, 
I have no part with love or tears, 
No mother-cares, no tender fears ; 
I have no joy this trade above, 
I am a thing no man will love, 
A circus-rider bold and free — 
Unsexed ! unloved ! unwomanly ! 

Ho ! bring the flags, balloons and rings ! 
I'll cut a dash for all the stings 
That lash me when I see the sight 
Of lovers' eyes with love alight ! 
Yon maiden's innocent young heart 
Some day with bitter wounds shall smart ; 
She yet shall know that lovers' vows 
The cause of shame and death espouse ; 
Or, if she live to be a wife. 
That love grown cold is death in life. 
Away ! My gallant steed. Away ! 
What care we for such trivial play ? 
Blow, trumpets, with your brazen throats I 
One sky o'er all the wide world floats ! 

One sky ? My world is in this tent. 
My sky is canvas, somewhat rent 



The Last Ride. 59 



And soiled with handling — so am I. 
What know I of the clear blue sky ? 
How would these gaping idiots stare 
To see me make a dash for air, 
And ride straight out of yonder door 
All heedless of what lies before ? 
Out in the moon's clear silver light, 
Away from all the senseless din, 
The garish lights, the painted sin, 
The crashing thunder of the band. 
Into the peace of some new land ? 

There is no such ! and nothing new 
Will come for aught that I can do. 
New, unknown lands are for the dead. 
And in this tent I win my bread ; 
And bread is life, and life is long, 
And must be lived by weak and strong. 

Look, lovers' eyes, for what you prize, 

Into each other's love-lit eyes ! 

Be merry if you can, I know 

What fools you are, but even so, 

I envy you the happy lot 

Of being fooled — as I am not. 



6o The Last Ride. 



But if my chance in life had been 

To be a maiden fair, within 

A home made beautiful and bright 

With peace and plenty, then I might, 

Perhaps, have known what love can do. 

To sanctify the favored few ; 

My heart might then have known the bliss, 

Of leaning to a lover's kiss ; 

Of looking up with maiden grace, 

Into a lover's strong, bright face ; 

Of finding hope and joy and rest 

Upon a tender, manly breast. * * * 

Now for the hurdles. Roland, see, 
They've laid out work for you and me ! 
You are the lover that I prize ! 
Fire flashes from your splendid eyes ! 
Once, twice around, once more, and then — 
Well done, sir ; bravo ! once again ! 
With you I'd ride at fate outright. 
And jump the gates of Death at sight ! 

Good horse, well sprung, now dash away ! 
I do not care, in this wild play, 



The Last Ride. 6r 



For all that my hard life has cost, 

For all the things that I have lost, 

For aught that grim mischance can bring, 

For life, or love, or anything ! 

Away, away ! my gallant steed, 

With clattering hoof and lightning speed ; 

And show to staring dunce and dolt 

How flies a living thunderbolt ! 



So weak and faint ! What hurts me so ? 
What was that whispering sad and low? 
What ghostly faces did I see ? 
What far off music came to me, 
Like wailing dirges for the dead? 
What mountains rest upon my head ? 
What river rushes dark and drear ? 
What dashing waves are those I hear ? 
Dreams ! — But I am not dreaming now. 
Helpless and weak and crushed — but how ? 

A thousand eyes were on me there, 

A thousand voices filled the air. 

And shouts that stirred the flags unfurled, 

And then a crash that shook the world ; 



62 The Last RiJe. 



That thrust me down from life and light 
Into a dim and dreadful night 
Of phantom shapes and sounds of fear — 
Ah, yes, I know, I'm dying here ! 

Dying ? And Roland, too, is dead ? 
I would have gladly died instead. 
My splendid horse ! And there was none 
For me to love but him — not one. 
Dying ! And Roland dead ! Then I 
Have nothing left to do but die. 

Only a girl's face, fond and fair. 

But yet it drove me to despair 

And made me reckless, mad and wild. 

But it was not her fault, poor child. 

Why, that is she ! Kneel by me here 

And pray to God for me, my dear. 

I had no lover, child or friend. 

But rode my best unto the end. 

For that was all I had to do. 

Life came with sweeter gifts to you. 

Pray for me ! — It is cold and dark — 

Can that be Roland neighing ? — Hark ! 

Yes, I am coming Roland, see, 

They're waiting there for you and me. 




'TIS BETTER NOT TO KNOW. 

FREDERIC CLAY. 

( Su>ig by Etigene Clarke. ) 
/. 

LOVE ! dost ask of yonder star, 

What future fate is thine and mine ? 
Nay ; not for thee his tidings are, 
And not for thee his radiant sign. 
Ah ! let the wandering light go by, 

And gem some other shore or sea ; 
For while thy gaze is turned on high, 

The stars I love are lost to me. 
The time is ours, with all its flowers. 
Thy hand in mine, wilt leave it so ? 
The hour is blest, and all the rest, 
'Tis better, darling, not to know. 

//. 

Oh, love, thy pensive quest forbear, 
Oh let yon wandering light go by. 

If stars could tell thee thou art fair 
And fondly worshipped, so can I ! 



64 



' Tis Better not to Know. 



If storms could tell thee, storms may sweep 

Across our way, my love, my own. 
And those sweet eyes may close to weep, 

No star shall see thee weep alone ! 
The time is ours, with all its flowers, 

Thy hand in mine, dost leave it so ? 
The hour is blest, and all the rest, 

'Tis better, darling, not to know. 




LOVE'S BELIEF. 



AS READ BY MRS. E. L. DAVENPORT. 




BELIEVE if I were dead, 
And you should kiss my eyelids where I lie 
Cold, dead and dumb to all the world contains, 
The folded orbs would open at thy breath, 
And, from its exile in the Isles of Death, 
Life would come gladly back along my veins. 

I believe if I were dead. 

And you upon my lifeless heart should tread — 

Not knowing what the poor clod chanced to be — 

It would find sudden pulse beneath the touch 

Of him it ever loved in life so much, 

And throb again, warm, tender, true to thee. 

I believe if in my grave, 

Hidden in woody depths by all the waves. 

Your eyes should drop some warm tears of regret. 

From every salty seed of your dear grief 

Some fair, sweet blossom would leap into leaf, 

To prove death could not make my love forget. 

* Anonymous. 



66 Loves Belief. 



I believe if I should fade 
Into the mystic realms where light is made, 
And you should long once more my face to see, 
I would come forth upon the hills of night, 
And gather stars like faggots, till thy sight, 
Led by the beacon blaze, fell full on me. 

I believe my love for thee 

(Strong as my life) so nobly placed to be, 

It could as soon expect to see the sun 

Fall like a dead king from his heights sublime. 

His glory stricken from the throne of Time, 

As thee unworth the worship thou hast won. 

I believe love, pure and true. 
Is to the soul a sweet, immortal dew, 
That gems life's petals in the hour of dusk. 
The waiting angels see and recognize 
The rich crown-jewel — love — of Paradise, 
When life falls from us like a withered husk. 





M/SS PRECIOSA'S PRINCIPLES. 

MARY KYLE DALLAS. 

{Read by the A tithot- .) 

N the most precise of country villages, in the prim- 
mist mansion ever built, dwelt the most precise 
maiden ever born, Miss Preciosa Lockwood. Even 
in that serious town where laughter was reckoned one of the 
smaller sins, and the family in whose dwelling lights were 
seen burning after ten o'clock was considered dissipated, 
there was a current joke regarding Lockwood Cottage, which 
giddy girls had dubbed " The Nunnery," and some even 
went so far as to call Miss Preciosa the "Lady Superior." 
Certainly convent walls never closed themselves more 
grimly against mankind, gentle and simple, old and young. 
What in many an excellent spinster has been an affectation, 
was genuine with Miss Preciosa. 

Long ago a pretty little cousin, who had been her con- 
fidante and companion, had become acquainted with a 
rascal with a handsome face and a serpent's soul, and had 
eloped with him. They heard of her wearing velvet and 
diamonds, but no wedding-ring, and driving about New- 
Orleans in a handsome carriage, wondered at and admired for 
her beauty and shunned for her sin. But at last, after a 



68 Miss Preciosas Principles. 



long silence about her doings, a faded thing in rags came 
creeping at night to Miss Preciosa's cottage, begging for 
God's sake that she would let her in to die. Miss Preciosa 
did the reverse of what most women do. She gave a sister's 
hand to the poor victim — nursed her until she died, and 
buried her decently, and thenceforth shut her spinster home 
to man. She was barely twenty-seven, and far from plain, 
but she argued thus : Something in a stove-pipe hat and 
boots has wrought this ill — all who wear those habiliments 
must be tabooed. 

She kept her resolution. From the poor-house she 
selected a small servant-maid, not yet old enough to think 
of "followers." As cook she kept a hideous old female, too 
far advanced in years to remember them. The milk was 
brought by a German woman. The butcher's wife, by 
request, brought in the joints. Even a woman cut the grass 
in the garden when it was too long, and if man approached 
the gates ancient Deborah, the cook, was sent forth to par- 
ley with and obstruct his approach. 

Having thus made things safe. Miss Preciosa went to 
New- York and brought home a dead sister's daughter, who 
had hitherto been immured in a boarding-school, and the 
arrangements were complete. 

Miss Lockwood took her niece to church, also to weekly 
meetings. They spent afternoons out, with widow ladies 



Miss Preciosa s Principles. 69 



with no grown-up sons, or with spinsters who resided in soli- 
tary state. 

The elder lady kept an Argus eye upon her blooming 
niece, and bold indeed would have been the man who dared 
address her. 

For her part, Miss Bella Bloom was an arch-hypocrite. 
She had learned that at boarding-school, where ingenuity is 
exhausted in deceiving the authorities, and doing always 
exactly what is most forbidden. Bella Bloom came to Lock- 
wood Cottage perfectly competent to hoodwink her aunt 

She did it. Preciosa blessed her stars that her niece 
was well principled. She hated men. She wondered how 
any young lady could walk and talk and be sociable with 
and marry them. And when she thought that she lived in a 
home where they could not intrude, hoiv thankful she was 
Aunt Preciosa could never guess. 

And all the while Bella was cha-fing inwardly at her 
restraint, envying girls who had pleasant little flirtations at 
will, and keeping up a private correspondence with a certain 
"Dear George," who sent his letters under cover to the 
butcher's wife, who brought them in with the beef and mut- 
ton, and said, " Bless ye, natur will be natur for all old 
maids ; and I was a gal myself oust afore Cleaver courted me. " 

Dear George was desperate. He could not live without 
seeing his Bella. He wrote bitter things about spinster 



yo Miss Prcciosa s Principles. 



aunts. He alluded feelingly to those rendezvous in the 
back garden of the seminary, with Miss Clover standing 
sentry at the gate on the look-out for a governess and enemy. 
The first opportunity he was coming to Plainacres, and in- 
tended to see his Bella or die. Was he not twenty-three 
and she seventeen ? Were they to waste their lives at a 
spinster's bidding ? No. 

Miss Preciosa, with her Argus-eyed watchfulness, sat 
calmly hour by hour two inches from the locked drawer of a 
cabinet which contained the gentleman's letters, and dined 
from meats which had been the means of conveying them 
across the threshold, inculcating her principles into the minds 
of her niece and handmaiden, the latter of whom grinned be- 
hind her lady's chair without reserve. Charity Pratt, having 
grown to be sixteen, also had her secret. It was the apothe- 
cary's boy, who, in his own peculiar fashion, had expressed 
admiration at church by staring. 

A few days after. Dr. Green, the batchelor minister, 
called at the cottage. Deborah went out to huff and snap, 
and was subdued by the big eyes. She came in. 

"Miss," said she, "the clergyman is out there." 

"Where?" gasped Preciosa. 

"In the garding, Miss, wantin' you." 

" Me ! You said, of course, I was out ? " 

"No, Miss. Everybody receives their pastor." 



Miss Preciosas Principles. 71 



So the pastor was ushered in. He conversed of church 
affairs. Miss Preciosa answered by polite monosyllables. 
Bella smiled and stitched. Deborah sat on a hall chair, on 
guard. Finally the best specimen of that bad creature, man, 
was got out of the house safely, and the ladies looked at each 
other as those might who had been closeted with a polar 
bear and escaped unharmed. 

" He's gone, aunty," said the hypocrite. 

" Thank goodness ! " said sincere Preciosa. " I thought 
I should have fainted. Never let it happen again, Deborah. 
Remember I'm always engaged." 

" But he seems a nice, well-spoken, good-behaved kind 
of a gentleman," said Deborah. ''''And z. clergyman." 

"So he does," said Preciosa. "But appearances are 
deceitful. I once knew a clergyman — " 

"Yes, Miss." 

'■' A Doctor of Divinity, Bella — " 

"Yes, Aunt." 

" Ah ! who — who — " 

"Well?" 

" Who kissed a young lady of his congregation in her 
father's garden." 

" Oh, Aunt ! " 

" He afterward married her. But I never could visit 
her or like /lini." 



72 Miss Preciosas Principles. 



" Bless you no," said Deborah. " Now the best thing 
you can do is to have a cup of strong green tea and some- 
thing nourishing to keep your sperits up. Cleaver's wife has 
just fetched oysters in." (Private signal to Bella.) 

''Has she? Oh, I so /oz'e oysters!" cried Bella, and 
ran to get dear George's last. 

It was a brief one, and in it George vowed to appear at 
the cottage when they least expected him and demand his 
betrothed. 

That evening, at dusk, Miss Preciosa walked in the 
garden alone. She was thinking of a pair of romantic big 
eyes, of a soft voice and a softer hand which she had been 
surprised into allowing to shake hers. 

" It's a pity men are so wicked ! " said she, and sighed. 
Although she was near thirty she looked very pretty as she 
walked in the moonlight, forgetting to put on prim airs and 
graces and to stiffen herself. Her figure was much like her 
niece Bella's, so much so that some one on the other side 
of the convent-like wall, with eyes upon a level with 
its upper stones, fancied it was that young lady. Under 
this belief he clambered up, stood at the top, and 
whispered. 

" My dearest look up, your best beloved is here ; be- 
hold your George ! " 

And Preciosa, lifting her eyes, beheld a man on her wall, 



Miss Preciosas Principles. 73 



flung her hands in the air, and uttered a shriek like that 
of an enraged peacock. 

The gentleman discovered his mistake, endeavored to 
retreat, stumbled and fell headlong among flower-pots and 
boxes, and lay their quite motionless. 

The shriek and the clatter aroused the house. Deborah, 
Bella, and Charity Pratt rushed to the scene, and found a 
gentleman in a sad plight, bloody and senseless, and Miss 
Preciosa half dead with terror. 

Bella, recognizing dear George, fainted in good earnest. 
Preciosa, encouraged by numbers, addressed the prostrate 
youth. 

" Get up, young man, and go ; your wickedness has 
been perhaps sufficiently punished. Please go." 

" He can't ; he's dead," said Deborah. 

" Oh, 7i'kat a sudden judgment ! You're sure he's dead ?" 

"Yes, Miss." 

" Then take him into the house and call the doctor." 

They laid him on the bed and medical aid came ; the 
poor fellow had broken a leg. 

" He'd get well. Oh yes, but he couldn't be moved." 

Miss Preciosa could not murder a fellow-creature, and 
she acquiesced. 

" He can't run off with the spoons until his leg is bet- 
ter," said Deborah. 



74 Miss Preciosas Principles. 



" He isn't able to elope with any one," said Miss Pre- 
ciosa ; " and we should be gentle with the erring. Who shall 
we find to nurse him ? " 

"Old Todds is competent, Miss," said Deborah. 

" Yes. Do send for that old person," said the lady. 

And old Todds came. He of course dwelt in the 
house. The doctor came every day. The apothecary's boy 
invaded the hall with medicines ; and finally, when the 
young man came to his senses, he desired earnestly to see 
his friend, Dr. Green. 

" Our clergyman his friend," said Preciosa. " He must 
have been misled then ; surely his general conduct must be 
proper. Perhaps this is the first time he ever looked over a 
wall to make love to a lady. By all means send for Dr. 
Green." 

Thus the nunnery was a nunnery no more. Two men 
under the roof. Three visiting it daily ! What was the 
world coming to ? Miss Preciosa dared not think. Bella 
was locked in her own room in the most decorous manner, 
while her aunt was in the house, but when she was absent 
Deborah and Charity sympathized and abetted, and she 
read and talked deliciously to dear George, lying on his 
back with his handsome face so pale and his spirits so low, 
poor fellow ! 

Troubles always come together. That evening Miss 



Miss Prcciosas Principles. 75 



Preciosa received information that legal affairs connected 
with her property, which was considerable, demanded her 
presence in New-York, and left the establishment, which 
never before so much needed its Lady Superior. She 
returned after three days toward evening, no one expecting 
her. "I shall give them a pleasant surprise," she thought, 
and slipped in the kitchen-way. There a candle burned, 
and on one chair sat two people — Charity Pratt and the 
druggist's boy. He had his arm around her waist. 

Miss Preciosa grasped the door-frame and shook from 
head to foot. " 111 go to Deborah," she said. " She can 
speak to that misguided girl better than I." She faltered for- 
ward. Deborah was in the back area scouring tea-knives. 
Beside her stood old Todds, the nurse. They were talking. 

" Since my old woman died," said Todds, I hain't seen 
nobody scour like you — and the pies you does make." 

"They ain't better than other folks," said Deborah, 
grimly coquettish. 

" They air" said Todds ; and, to Miss Preciosa's 
horror, he followed up the compliment by asking for a 
kiss. 

Miss Preciosa struggled with hysterics and fled parlor- 
ward. Alas ! a murmur of sweet voices. She peeped in. 
Through the window swept the fragrance of honey-suckle. 
Moonlight mingled with that of the shaded lamp. Bella 



76 Miss Preciosas Principles. 



leaned over an easy-chair in which reclined George Love- 
boy. This time Preciosa was petrified. 

"Dearest Bella," said George. 

" My own," said Bella. 

" How happy we are ? " 

" Oh, so happy ! " 

" And when shall we be together again ? You know I 
must go. Your aunt won't have me here, Bella. I must 
tell her. Why are you afraid of her?" 

" She's so prim and good, dear soul," said Bella. 

" Ah ! you don't love me as I do you." 
George ? 

" You don't. Would I let an ai//if stand between us ?" 

" Oh, George, you know I've told you that nothing 
could change me. Why, if you had staid lame, and had had 
to v/alk on crutches all your life, it would have made no 
difference, though I fell in love with you for your walk. 
I don't deny it." 

" And I," said George, " would have almost been con- 
tent had fate willed that I should be a cripple to have been 
so cherished, to have reposed on so faithful a bosom." 

" Oh, oh, oh ! " from the doorway checked the speech 
Those last words had well-nigh killed Miss Preciosa Lock- 
wood. Hysterics supervened, and in their midst a gentle- 
man was announced. The Rev. Peter Green. 



Miss Preciosas Principles. 77 



" Show him in," said Preciosa. " I need counsel. 
Perhaps he may give it." And for the first time in her life 
she hailed the entrance of " a man." 

Mr. Loveboy left the room as stealthily and speedily as 
possible. Miss Bella followed him. Charity was in the pan- 
try hiding her head, and Deborah returned to the cellar. 

Alone the Lady Superior received the Rev. Peter Green. 
She faltered and blushed. 

" You are, I presume, already aware of the fact that I 
am much disturbed in mind," she said. 

" Yes, Madam. That is perceptible." 

" You are my spiritual adviser, sir. To you, though a 
man, I turn for advice," and she shed a tear or two. " My 
own household has turned against me." And she told him 
all. 

The Rev. Peter made big eyes at her, and broke the 
truth gently. 

" My dear madam, you do not know that old Jonathan 
Todds and your faithful Deborah intend to unite their for- 
tunes in the bands of holy wedlock next Sabbath ? " 

" Know it ? Oh the old, old sinners ! Are they in 
their dotage ? " 

" Or that Charity Pratt, who seems a likely sort of 
girl, has promised to give her hand to Zeddock Saltz on 
Thursday ? " 



78 Miss Preciosas Principles. 



" Oh, Doctor Green ! What do I hear ? " 

" The truth, Madam. Can you hear more ? " 

" I hope so." 

" Then it is time that you should be informed that Miss 
Bella Bloom and Mr. George Loveboy have been engaged a 
year. They have corresponded regular. It was to see her he 
climbed the garden wall and met with his accident. Don't 
give way. Madam — don't." 

" You're very kind," said Miss Preciosa ; "but it is 
awful ! What would you advise ? " 

" I should say, allow Todds and Deborah to marry 
next Sunday." 

" Yes, sir." 

"And Charity and Zeddock on the day they have fixed. 
And I should say, sanction the betrothal of your niece and 
Mr. Loveboy, and allow me to unite them at some appointed 
day before the altar." 

" My own niece ! " said Miss Preciosa. " Oh, my own 
niece ! " 

" Do you so seriously object to weddings ? " asked the 
pastor. 

" N — no," said Preciosa. " It's this awful courting I 
dislike." 

" I agree with you," said the pastor. I have resolved, 
when I marry, to come to the point at once. Miss Preciosa, 



Miss Prcciosa s Principles. 79 



the Parsonage needs a mistress. I know of no lady I 
admire and esteem as I do you. Will you make me happy ? 
will you be my wife ? " 

Preciosa said nothing. Her cheeks burned ; her lids 
drooped. He came a little closer. He made bigger eyes at 
her than ever. At last his lips approached and touched her 
cheek, and still she said nothing. 

In such a case, " Speech is silver, but silence is of gold." 
Deborah was married on Sunday, her sixtieth birthday. 
Charity on Tuesday. Bella gave her hand to George Love- 
boy in a month, and on the same day a brother clergyman 
united Preciosa and the Rev. Peter Green. And the nun- 
nery was broken up forever. 




BUDGE'S STORY OF THE FLOOD. 



READ BY MISS EMILIE W. GROESBECK. 




NCE the Lord felt so uncomfortable, cos folks was 
bad, that he was sorry he ever made anybody, or 
any world or anything. Noah wasn't bad — the 
Lord liked him first-rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark 
and then the Lord would make it rain so everybody would 
be drownded but Noah an' his little boys an' girls, an' doggies, 
an' pussies, an' mama-cows, an' little-girl-cows, an' bosses, 
an' everything — they'd go in the ark an' wouldn't get wetted 
a bit when it rained. An' Noah took lots of things to eat in 
the ark — cookies, an' milk, an' oatmeal, an' strawberries, an' 
porgies, an' — oh, yes, — an' plum-puddin's an' pumpkin-pies. 
But Noah didn't want everybody to get drownded, so he talked 
to folks an' said, "It's goin' to rain awful pretty soon; 
you'd better be good, an' then the Lord'll let you come into 
my ark." An' they jus' said, " Oh, if it rains we'll go in the 
house until it stops ; " an' other folks said, "We aint afraid 
of rain, we've got an umbrella." An' some more said they 
wasn't goin' to be afraid of just a rain. But it dididan though 
an' folks went in their houses, an' the water came in, an' they 



* From Helen s Babies. 



Budge's Sfory of the Flood. 



went upstairs, an' the water came up there, an' thev got on 
the tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' up in moun- 
tains, an' the water went after 'em everywhere, an' drownded 
everybody, only just except Noah and the people in the ark. 
An' it rained forty days an' nights, an' then it stopped, 
an' Noah got out of the ark an' he an' his little boys an' girls 
went wherever they wanted to, an' everything in the world 
was all theirs ; there wasn't anybody to tell 'em to go home, 
nor no kindergarten schools to go to, nor no bad boys to 
fight em', nor nothin'. 



w ^ 

Das 
Griinetjewdlbe 

zu 

Dresden 



kx 



xJd 



PORTFOLIO OF ENGRAVINGS, 



PRESENTED TO MRS. SMITH 
BY THE LADIES OF THE SOCIETY. 




NEW-YEAR GREETING. 



REV. PHEBE A. HANAFORD. 



HE morning broke bright as an angel's pinion, 
The winter diamonds sparkled on the boughs, 



™ We, who had feared the storm-king's dark domin- 
Smiled at our dread, and lifted heavenward, brows [ion, 

Serene as starlight, hopeful on that morning 
For all events that to our lot should come 

When the new year that thus so bright was dawning 
Should be with us for twelve long months at home. 

We hoped, nor hoped amiss, that eighteen-eighty 

Would far outstrip the joys of seventy-nine ; 
And did we not reach this conclusion weighty, 

That we would patient be, nor once repine ? 
Though storms should come, we'd look for sunny weather 

When from our paths the mists should roll away. 
And trust th' unfailing love of that All-Father 

Who sees in shadow more than we by day. 



New - Year Greeting. 83 



Then as we gave to those frost-jewels fleeting 

Our admiration, and our welcome too, 
So let me give to these Esthetics greeting. 

Who blaze with genius, beam in friendship true. 
Here, where we read a truth that needs no proving, 

We've sought to learn of Nature's works and ways, 
Our knowledge leading to a deeper loving 

Of Him whose thought expression finds in these 

Strange forms of rock from distant vale and mountain, 

Symmetric crystals from the quarry's heart : 
A chalice each, with draughts from wisdom's fountain. 

We quaff with eagerness ; for they impart 
The life-elixir that the spirit needeth. 

The panacea for many an earthly woe. 
The knowledge that, once gained, the spirit speedeth 

Still more and more of God's great works to know. 

Surely the new year opens with a gladness 

The spiritually wise alone can know, 
When, as a balm for all the old year's sadness 

We upward look, and see the morning glow 
Which faith affords, as we. His works beholding, 

God's wondrous power and equal goodness see. 
Which tell, while His grand purpose is unfolding, 

How firm in His great love our trust may be. 



84 New - Year Greeting. 



Then blessings on the kind and wise provider 

Of feasts so welcome for both heart and mind, 
Who bids us sit in wondering trust beside her, 

And listening here, a pure enjoyment find. 
" A thousandth part we know not of the wonders," * 

The Infinite alone can know them all ! 
But louder than the cataract's echoing thunders, 

We hear, through her, the wonder-worker's call ; 

And we will study through the coming seasons, 

Of rock and shell, of gem and fern and flower. 
With hope that as we question Nature's reasons. 

Her why and wherefore shall be beauty's dower, 
To make us fair in spirit, e'er reflecting 

The mind of Him who mirrored love divine, 
Till the great glory which we were expecting 

In Life's grand new-year round our path shall shine. 

Then will those object-lessons still be given 
To students who are veiled in flesh no more, 

While music sounds amid the bliss of heaven, 
Whose echoes sweet oft reach this earthly shore ; 



* Referring to an inscription over one of the mineral-cabinets. 



Neiv - Year Greeting. 85 



And there, we trust, this band will yet assemble, 
Teacher and taught, within that city's wall 

Whose flashing gems she told us but resemble 
The glorious attributes of Him we call 

Both God and Father, in His Son revealing 

The Sovereign and the Sire ! till we obey ; 
His love our summons, till we, reverent kneeling. 

Gladly resign ourselves to His dear sway. 
Then shall we hail Eternity's glad morning. 

The new-year that shall break beyond the tomb. 
The untold, unknown gladness of that dawning 

That knows no more bereavement's night of gloom. 

Then shall we range the universe of glory. 

Turn the great pages of creation o'er. 
Soar mid the stars and list their wondrous story. 

The Elder Scriptures not unread before : 
And ever as we rise new wisdom gaining, 

The gospel-spirit we shall make our own, 
The loftiest truth behold, — our crown attaining — 

Love amid law — the Lamb amidst the throne. 

1880. 



TO A LIZARD IN AMBER. - 



W. A. CROFFUT. 




BRIGHT-EYED swimmer from the unknown seas, 
Thou little cousin of the Ichthyosaurus — 
What mocking sylph, beneath the cypress trees, 
Discarding flies and fleas and bugs and bees, 
Embalmed thee for us ? 



Dwelt thou with man primeval in his lair 
On hills Carpathian or desert Lybian ? 
Or didst thou with the gods Olympus share, 
'Mid such high state living unnoticed there. 
Thou small amphibian ? 

Say ! Didst thou rest on Agamemnon's grave. 

When Troy's renowned unpleasantness was over 
Or did glad Neptune fling thee from his cave 
When sweet Calypso kissed beside the wave 
Her Spartan lover ? 



* In the cabinet of Mrs. Erminnie A. Smith. 



To a Lizard in Amber. 87 



How different from the death thou Hvest here 

Amid the gay and social, wise and witty, 
With dulcet music melting on the ear, 
And Poesy's sweet voice discoursing clear, 
In Jersey City ! 



Thy lucent coffin hath a splendid nook : 

Above, with saucer eyes and claws retractile, 
An owl sits gazing with an anxious look ; 
Around are gems ; beneath, that limestone spook. 
The pterodactyl. 

Who pinioned thy grotesque and uncouth frame 
Within the sunshine of this golden chamber ? 
Is this the fountain whence the nectar came ? 
(3r is it star-born — this undying flame 
Which men call amber ? 



Or is this jewel formed of sweet tears, shed 

By fair Heliades — Apollo's daughters — 
When their rash brother down the welkin sped. 
Lashing his father's sun-team, and fell dead 
In Euxine waters ? 



88 



To a Lizard in Amber. 



Splay-footed sprawler from the unknown seas- 

O, tawny cousin of the Ichthyosaurus — 
What sportive sister of Hesperides, 
In the ambrosia of celestial trees 
Embalmed thee for us ? 




THE LIZARD IN AMBER. 



REST AND LEISURE. 

MRS. JENNIE CUNNINGHAM CROLY.* 

{Read by the A uthor. ) 




HAT rests you the most ? I asked a literary friend 
one day. " First, getting out of doors ; second, 
seeing and talking with people ; third, going to the 
theatre or opera." ''What do you find the most restful ? " 
was asked of another literary friend, a woman who spends 
her days in hard, delving, literary work, which requires a 
vast amount of reading and searching for authorities. " Oh I 
going out and seeing people," was the ready answer, 
" nothing rests me like that. My friends often say to me, when 
I am very tired after a hard day's work, ' Why do you not 
stay at home and rest, instead of dressing and fatiguing your- 
self by going to a reception ? ' But I assure them that stay- 
ing at home and sitting still, after sitting still at work all day, 
is not ' rest ' to me ; on the contrary, if I am obliged to do 
that, or continue my work through the evening, as not un- 
frequently happens, I am depressed and unfit for work the 
next day ; while, if I conquer my unwillingness to move, go 

* Jennie June. 



po Rest a?2d Leisure. 



out into freshness and activity, meet pleasant people, ex- 
change ideas or get the benefit of theirs, I come home 
strengthened, brightened, and ready to take up my work 
again with accustomed energy." 

This is the testimony of nine out of every ten of those 
persons, men or women, who perform literary labor for daily 
bread, or pursue it as a regular occupation. Of course 
circumstances alter cases, and much depends on the possi- 
bility of meeting the right kind of people in the right way, 
and without the sacrifice of too much time, health and 
strength. If very full or very elaborate evening-dress was 
required, the trouble would more than counterbalance the 
good to be derived by a worker. If the gathering was a 
mere jam of empty-headed persons, assembled to stare at 
each other's clothes and eat a gorgeous but unhealthful sup- 
per, then it is easy to be seen that the result must be detri- 
mental rather than otherwise, and certainly not restful to 
mind or body. But the question is simply the abstract one, 
of what rest is to different people and under different cir- 
cumstances — not one of ethics at all. 

Mr. Bancroft, the historian, found the greatest rest and 
pleasure of his life in music, especially in the Italian opera, 
upon which he was a regular attendant for many years. Rain 
or shine, he always occupied his seat, and from the moment 
the curtain rose, seemed to divest his mind of everything 



Rest and Leisure. 91 



else, and to give his undivided attention to the harmony of 
sweet sounds. 

A gentleman engaged upon a very abstruse literary work, 
remarked recently that he went every night, sometimes for 
weeks together, during its progress, to a minstrel entertain- 
ment, simply to laugh and get rid of thinking. The literary 
receptions which were initiated by Miss Alice Gary, twenty- 
five or thirty years ago, and which were the beginning of the 
delightful social life of literary people in New-York, and 
more or less all over the country, were doubtless the out- 
growth of a necessity for that restful companionship and in- 
terchange of ideas, which persons who lead secluded, intel- 
lectual lives seem, above all others, to need. Women, 
particularly single women, are, and were much more at that 
time, shut out from all possibility of association with other 
lives. The darkness, the very time when social life begins, 
shut them in as with an impenetrable wall ; they could not 
leave home without an escort ; they could not have an escort 
without subjecting themselves and him to unpleasant remarks 
and suspicions ; they could not attend theatre, opera, or con- 
cert, except by invitation of a gentleman, and yet if they 
ventured to accept such an invitation, the consequences 
were not always pleasant, so that for many reasons such 
chances could not be relied upon to afford any regular alter- 
native to the monotony of daily life. Receiving friends in- 



92 Rest and Leisure. 



formally, without preparation, without restriction, did not 
take the Gary sisters away from their home ; but it brought 
new interest, new life, new thought, and fresh activity into 
their home ; while from the sweetness and integrity of their 
lives went out an influence which has been known and felt 
all over the land, and has done even more to rid the social 
atmosphere of false ideas than their work has accomplished 
for literature. Perhaps it would have been better, and more 
restful, in the sense of reviving and restoring, for them to 
have gone out of their home, and out of themselves more, 
instead of bringing the outer world into their own lives ; 
but they did the only thing they could do, and they did it so 
well that it made a new departure in social life, and created 
any number of half-way houses, where weary pilgrims of 
both sexes have found and are finding the kind of rest they 
need. 

Ministers, pastors of churches, are at a great disadvan- 
tage in finding rest, that is, change from the serious and 
wearisome monotone of existence. Nature abhors mono- 
tony as much as it does a vacuum, and always contrives to 
show displeasure, and take revenge on those who walk too 
long in the same beaten track. The deterioration of char- 
acter in minister's children, especially observable, which has 
passed into a proverb, is accounted for on this principle — 
it is the revolt of the human in the parents, and particularly 



Rest and Leisure. 93 



in the father, against the system of repression ; the public 
opinion which forbids the most innocent and necessary 
recreations, which insists that ministers, as a class, are not, 
and shall not be as other men, and that rest, that is, associa- 
tion and interchange, or activities outside of a fixed routine, 
are not either necessary or even permitted. This code has 
been greatly modified during the past few years, and the 
general morality, the character of ministers and their fami- 
lies will be benefitted by it. When ministers are permitted 
to be more human, they and theirs will be more divine. No 
man or woman ought to be restricted to gravity, to the use 
of only one set of the muscles of his face, and those the ones 
that exercise a detrimental influence upon his nerves ; 
thought in one direction, if intense enough, and protracted 
long enough, creates insanity. 

Farmers know that soil planted year after year with the 
same kind of seed, refuses, after a while, to produce a crop ; 
it must have a change, that change is rest, although it is 
planted and yields as much as ever of something else, some 
different kind of crop. It is always the old story of the 
goose that laid the golden egg, — and there is wisdom in all 
those old stories ; — but the truth is, we will kill the goose to 
get the egg to-day just as fast, and just as foolishly, as the 
worthies we considered so absurd centuries ago. Women, 
probably more than men, cling to the idea that rest means 



94 Rest a?id Leisure. 



quietude, keeping still, and nothing more ; and this idea they 
carry out, sometimes to their own detriment. A woman who 
lives indoors, needs for a change to get out-of-doors ; this is 
the great want in the lives of ninety-nine women out of 
every hundred. In cities there are attractions, — they can 
make errands, "excuses " for getting into the street ; in the 
country there is no such motive, and after a time indoor 
work drags so that the responsible housekeeper cannot spare 
a moment, except for an interval upon the lounge, or a small 
tussle with the stocking-basket. If her leisure was spent 
out-of-doors, or in congenial society — in a ladies' reading or 
debating club, or even in making a call, she would find her- 
self equal to conduct her routine work, to take up the inter- 
minable round of small duties, of which none, except those 
who have to perform them, can ever understand the 
drudgery, the wear and tear upon the mind. 

A great many women so resent this failure on the part 
of those about to realize the necessities of their position, that 
they will not take advantage of the opportunities they might 
make for themselves. They assert that they '* have no 
time " for improvement, for neighborly converse, for walk- 
ing or for riding, for anything but going through the round 
of petty duties, which, performed without any break upon 
their dreariness, in time produce a species of melancholia or 
insanity. A determined effort, on the contrary ; a dose of 



Rest and Leisure. 95 



out-of-door air, of intelligent interchange of thought — even if 
taken as medicine, with a wry face — will act as a charm, and 
soon be anticipated as a blessing, a sweetener of life. 

Women who vary their work, and add to it a little play, 
can do twice as much. Languor, inertia, is the revenge 
which the body takes upon us for wearing out one set of 
faculties, leaving the others unemployed. Using the brain 
to save work is much better than compelling the hands to 
perform a ceaseless round of labor, of which the sanitary 
result is very doubtful ; there is a great deal in putting time 
and faculty to the best use. There are women who consider 
themselves " slaves " to their families, and who do toil early 
and late to keep them in doughnuts, and cookies, and pie, 
and sauce, and pickles, and pot-cheese, and what not — who 
yet do not make home pleasant for either husband or children. 
Such a woman is always cooking or cleaning, or she is 
always tired, and generally cross, and when she hears what 
other women are doing in the way of public, or social, or 
home-decorative work, she feels as if it was an indirect 
reflection upon her efficiency, and blames husband and 
children, her hard lot — everything and everybody but herself. 

Doubtless her husband, her children, and her whole life 
have grown hard and exacting, and the former somewhat 
indifferent to her moods ; but is not this her own fault ? 
They are as she has made them. She has accustomed them 



96 Jicst and Leisure. 



to certain things, and very naturally they look for them, per- 
haps after a while they demand them. A little more exact 
knowledge will teach women that something is due to them- 
selves, that their own bodies require perpetual care and 
recreating, and that future health depends upon the mate- 
rials which are daily and hourly put into the work. It does 
not live by bread alone, though good and healthful food is 
necessary to its sustenance, but it takes something from 
whatever it is brought in contact with — -the atmosphere- 
people, and the inspiration of a new thought. A sensible 
man will assist his wife to put variety, and above all, quick 
ening intellectual influence into her life, because it reacts so 
beneficially upon the home, the children, and their actual 
surroundings. But women can do much themselves toward 
enlarging their own outlook, broadening their own ideas, 
and changing their own conditions, by taking advantage of 
the opportunities within their reach, and making new ones 
instead of waiting for the new ones to be thrust upon them, 
or refusing them when they are presented. 

It is a common practice in the country among people 
who retire early, and sleep, or have the opportunity of doing 
so with the utmost regularity, to spend their leisure in the 
middle of the day in taking a nap. This is absurd, it is not 
what is needed. Take a book out of doors under a tree, or 
practice on some musical instrument, if you are so fortunate 



Rest and Leisure. 97 



as to be able to play on one, or take a study and pursue it in 
these brief moments. Whatever you do, let it be something 
quite opposite and different to the usual course and tenor of 
your life ; let the change be the employment of an entirely 
different set of faculties ; the night furnishes enough of ab- 
solute rest, if you are able to employ it for that purpose. 

One of the most fastidious young men of a fashionable 
set, astonished his friends and his family, not very long since, 
by starting on a cruise in a whaling vessel. The outcry on 
all sides was great. He had been accustomed to have every 
wish consulted ; a spot on a table-cloth or napkin took away 
his appetite. Whoever was sacrificed for the comfort of 
visitors, or unforeseen accidents, Fred's whims, Fred's tastes, 
and Fred's prejudices were always respected. His appetite 
was peculiarly delicate, and he could not eat at all in any 
near proximity to persons less refined in their habits than 
himself. His mother, always watchful and tender of his 
comfort, trembled at the hardships he would have to experi- 
ence, and could not understand his voluntary choice of such 
a mode of spending a summer holiday. His father under- 
stood it better. Said he, " The boy is tired to death by your 
kid-glove performances. He wants a change from the rou- 
tine of a life which, he begins to realize, makes no drafts on 
his manhood." This was the condition of affairs precisely, 
and his mother began to realize it when letters came back to 



Rest and Leisure. 



her filled with glowing descriptions of a life of daily struggle, 
contest, and muscular activity — of nights spent in a cloak, 
blanket or strip of canvas, upon decks with the planks for a 
pillow — of food made up of '' hard tack " and bacon, with 
bread and molasses for a treat. 

The desire for and enjoyment of a rest and holiday of 
this description was the natural revolt of strength against the 
weakness and effeminacy forced upon it by the conventions 
and refinements of modern life. Extremes are said to meet, 
and they do. Over-indulgence in luxury produces weakness 
and disease, as does poverty. We need the possession and 
use of all our faculties, bodily and mental, for health, and the 
effects of disuse are very much like those of abuse : both re- 
sult in incapacity at last. Much of the ill health, and many 
of the diseased conditions in the world, are due to our nar- 
rowness, to our prejudices, to the determination of individu- 
als to cut every other individual according to their cloth, 
and by a pattern of their choosing. Public opinion has been 
created which has made it next to impossible, — in some com- 
munities wholly so, — for certain persons or classes of persons 
to go outside of certain fixed rules, unwritten but inflexible, 
in the conduct of their daily life. Possibly it never occurred 
to the makers of this public opinion, that to say a man or 
woman shall not run, or dance, or work, or wear such cloth- 
ing as suits them, or seek such relief and companionship as 



Rest and Leisure. 99 



different states of mind and body require, is to destroy 
health and crush out manhood and womanhood ; but it does 
do this, nevertheless, and then comes the revenge, which 
gives us suppression and repression, in the form of wicked 
children of seemingly good parents, — of shocking scandal or 
dreadful crime which makes the whole community, with 
hair standing on end, wonder where we are to look for 
goodness, and "pooh-pooh !" the talk of scientists about 
hereditary influence ! 

Great advances have been made of late years, and it is 
now admitted that even ministers need rest from the paro- 
chial white cravat, the long face, the studied walk, the monoto- 
nous, unbroken round of prayer-meetings — for every occasion 
of joyous festivity must be turned into a conventicle if the 
minister be present. Human nature could not but become 
depraved under such circumstances and restrictions, whether 
it was so in the first place or not ; and if the depravity 
did not break out in one way, it would in another ; if not in 
father, in son ; if not in crime, in loss of reason or mental 
power. It has been remarked frequently that clergymen 
flock in a body to Saratoga as soon as the summer recess 
begins, and it is probably not altogether the efficacy of the 
waters which induces so many of them to choose this 
fashionable centre as a summer resort. It is its brightness, its 
gayety, its entire change from the enforced stiffness and 



i- UFC, 



Rest and Leisure 



starch of their daily lives at home, which must be hard to 
endure by a man of large and liberal, not necessarily bad, 
nature. 

It is a pity that school-teachers and quiet drudges of 
every description could not take a summer rest at Saratoga, 
or somewhere, in the midst of plenty of people and a joyous 
activity. Fashionable belles, on the contrary, would be bet- 
ter off for a rest in the farm-house, or in doing the cooking 
and the incidental housework of a " cottage in some vast 
wilderness," or a camping-out expedition. 

It will be seen, therefore, that rest is many-sided, and 
of many kinds ; that sometimes it means activity, sometimes 
hard work, but always a total change from what we have 
been doing, from the usual habits, the actual circumstances 
which have preceded it. To obtain the rest, we must be 
careful not to fill our lives with the spirit of unrest, or im- 
agine that we must eternally jump from one thing to another 
in order to i)reserve an equilibrium. All our faculties need 
exercise, but not in the same degree. We do not need to 
divide our days between laughing and crying ; the most of 
us prefer the even tenor which excites neither smiles nor 
tears ; yet we may be the better in more ways than one for 
a good laugh, or a good cry. Does not George Eliot say, 
somewhere, that one way of getting at the misfortunes of our 
kind is to look upon their pleasures? and it is only another 



Rest and Leisure. 



way of saying that the varied experiences of life are all 
necessary to teach us human sympathy, and from the infinite 
forms of work alone can we draw any correct conclusions as 
to the rest which each one needs, and is hoping for in the 
future. 




JESTER OF PERLES BAROQUES IN THE GRliNE GEWOLBE, DRESDEN. 




KITTY OF COLERAINE. 

CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY. 

(Recited by Miss Margaret CAase.) 

^S beautiful Kitty, one morning, was tripping 

With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, 
When she saw me she stumbled, her pitcher it 
tumbled, 
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. 

" Oh, what shall I do now ? — 'twas looking at you now ; 
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again ! . 
'Twas the pride of my dairy, (3h, Barney McClerey ! 
You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine." 

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, 
That such a misfortune should give her such pain, 
A kiss then I gave her ; and ere I did leave her, 
She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again. 

'Twas hay-making season — I can't tell the reason — 
Misfortunes will never come single 'tis plain ; 
For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster 
There never a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. 



COMO. 

JOAQUIN MILLER. 

(Recited by Charles Roberts^ Jr.) 




HE red-clad fishers row and creep 
Below the crags, as half asleep, 
Nor even make a single sound. 
The walls are steep, 
The waves are deep ; 
And if the dead man should be found 
By these same fishers in their round, 
Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 

The lake lay bright, as bits of broken moon 

Just newly set within the cloven earth ; 

The ripened fields drew round a golden girth 

Far up the steppes, and glittered in the noon. 

And when the sun fell down, from leafy shore 

Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar. 

The stars, as large as lillies, fiecked the blue ; 

From out the Alps the moon came wheeling through 

The rocky pass the Great Napoleon knew. 



1 04 Como. 



A gala night it was — the season's prime ; 
We rode from castled lake to festal town, 
To fair M ilan — my friend and I ; rode down 
By night, where grasses waved in rippled rhyme : 
And so what theme but love in such a time ? 
His proud lip curved the while in silent scorn 
At thought of love ; and then, as one forlorn, 
He sighed, then bared his temples, dashed with gray, 
Then mocked, as one outworn and well blase. 

A gorgeous tiger-lily, flaming red, 

So full of battle, of the trumpet's blare, 

Of old-time passion, upreared its head. 

I galloped past, I leaned, 1 clutched it there. 

From out the long strong grass I held it high ; 

And cried, " Lo ! this to-night shall deck her hair 

Through all the dance. And mark ! the man shall die 

Who dares assault, for good or ill design. 

The citadel where I shall set this sign." 



He spoke no spare word all the after while. 
That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his ! 
Why, better men have died for less than this. 
Then in the hall the same old hateful smile I 



Co mo. 105 



Then marvel not that when she graced the floor, 
With all the beauties gathered from the four 
Far quarters of the world, and she, my fair, 
The fairest, wore within her midnight hair 
My tiger-lily — marvel not, I say. 
That he glared like some wild beast well at bay ! 



Oh, she shone fairer than the summer star, 

Or curled sweet moon in middle destiny. 

More fair than sunrise climbing up the sea, 

Where all the loves of Ariadne are. 

Who loves, who truly loves, will stand aloof. 

The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof 

Of shallow waters — all the while afar 

From out the dance I stood, and watched my star, 

My tiger-lily, borne an oriflamme of war. 



A thousand beauties flashed at love's advance, 
Like bright white mice at moonlight in their play, 
Or sunfish shooting in the shining bay. 
The swift feet shot and glittered in the dance. 
Oh, have you loved, and truly loved, and seen 
Aught else the while than your own stately queen ? 



io6 Como. 



Her presence it was majesty — so tall ; 
Her proud development encompassed — all. 
She filled all space. I sought, I saw but her. 
I followed as some fervid worshipper. 

Adown the dance she moved with matchless pace. 

The world — my world — moved with her. Suddenly 

I questioned who her cavalier might be. 

'Twas he ! His face was leaning to her face ! 

I clutched my blade ; I sprang ; I caught my breath, 

And so stood leaning still as death. 

And they stood still. She blushed, then reached and tore 

The lily as she passed, and down the floor 

She strewed its heart like bits of gushing gore. 

'Twas he said, heads not hearts were made to break. 

He taught me this that night in splendid scorn. 

I learned too well. The dance was done. Ere morn 

We mounted — he and I — but no more spake. 

And this for woman's love ! My lily worn 

In her dark hair in pride to be thus torn 

And trampled on for this bold stranger's sake I 

Two men rode silent back toward the lake. 

Two men rode silent down, but only one 

Rode up at morn to greet the rising sun. 



Como. 



ICJ 



The walls are steep, 

The waves are deep ; 
And if the dead man should be found 
By red-clad fishers in their round, 
Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 





FROM DUSK .TO DAWN. 

JOHN SAVAGE. 

{Read by the A uthor.) 

have waited through the gloaming, 

And have heard the evening chime, 
While the songful river roaming, 

To my beating heart kept time, 
I have watched the stars appearing. 

Lighting up their heav'nly home, 
But no star to me came cheering. 

For my darling did not come. 

Ah ! how gloomy seemed the bower. 

Wanting Love's melodious tune ; 
O'er the ivy-shrouded tower 

Rose the love-befriending moon ; 
But no beam my fond hopes lightened 

Though I watched till mornings hum. 
And the dawn no pathway brightened 

For my darling did not come. 



MRS. LOFTY AND I. 

MRS. (IILDERSLEEVK LONGSTREET. 

[S„»g hy Mrs. Florence Rice A'/iou.) 




I RS. LOFTY keeps a carriage ; 
So do I. 
She has dapple grays to draw it ; 
None have I. 
She's no prouder with her coachman, 

Than am I 
^Vith my blue-eyed laughing baby, 

Trundling by. 
1 hide his face lest she should see 
The cherub-boy and envy me. 

Her fine husband has white fingers ; 

Mine has not. 
He can give his bride a palace ; 

Mine a cot. 
Hers comes home beneath the starlight, 

Ne'er cares she. 
Mine comes in the purple twilight, 

Kisses me. 



Mrs. Lofty and L 



And prays that He who holds life's sands 
Will keep His loved ones in His hands. 

Mrs. Lofty has her jewels ; 

So have I. 
She wears hers upon her bosom : 

Inside I. 
She will leave hers at death's portals 

Bye-and-Bye ; — 
I shall bear the treasure with me 

When I die. 
For I have love and she has gold, 
She counts her wealth, mine can't be told. 

She has those who love her station ; 

None have I. 
But I've one true heart beside me. 

Glad am I ; 
I'd not change it for a kingdom, 

No ! not I ; 
God will weigh it in His balance, 

Bye-and-bye ; — 
And then the difference will define 
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine. 




CHILDREN. 

(BY A SUFFERING AND IRATE BACHELOR.) 

MRS. BARROW.* 

(Read by ike A ui/ior.) 

lOETS and painters in all ages have combined to 
laud and magnify the matchless virtues of children. 
They represent them as little cherubs who have 
left their wings in heaven, angels of milk and cream, whom 
contact with the world can never turn sour. They have 
deluded many unoffending innocents into assuming the 
duties of paternity, and — horresco referens ! — it is a crime 
not provided for by law. 

For, unfortunately, the real child does not in the least 
resemble these flights of fancy. He is simply a two-legged 
animal, with a big head, who is forever in mischief, and hor- 
rifies the company with astounding questions : — 

" Mr. Smith, who will set the North S.iver on fire ? My 
mamma says you never will. Mr. Brown, look at my legs ; 
they are not like knitting needles, are they ? Sister Helen 
says yours are." 



* Aunt Fannv. 



CJiildrcn. 



A certain great man being asked whether he liked chil- 
dren, replied : — 

" Yes, madam, at eight o'clock, for then they are sent 
to bed ; and when they are naughty, for then they are 
taken out of the room." 

Even sweet and genial Charles Lamb, when asked how 
he liked babies, answered : ''''Boiled, madam." 

What unspeakable trouble, what unparalleled disorder 
is occasioned by these baptized little demons ? One can 
neither think, work, nor converse, when they are present. 
They choose the moment when you are battering your 
brains for a rhyme to " uncle," to sound a deafening blast 
on their tin trumpets ; they beat their drums and hurrah 
when you are solving a problem ; they scratch the furniture 
with pins and nails ; and take as much pleasure in upsetting 
your fine china and listening to the crash as monkeys, to 
which family, in fact, they belong. If the portrait of your 
affianced rests upon the easel, they will watch their oppor- 
tunity and paint a mustache upon her face with the French 
blacking. To make a paper boat they will help themselves 
to your railroad bonds, your family deeds, your most private 
and valuable papers. In spite of your watchfulness, they 
will run off with your false hair, to show to the minister in 
the parlor who has come to visit you ; and loudly clamor 
for a set of teeth set in gold, " which can be taken out and 



Children. 



put in at pleasure, like auntie's," for a Christmas present. 
They will tie a tin pan to the tail of your favorite dog, and 
carry the cat round by her caudal appendage, or, as they 
call it, '' by her handle." They will pull a hair out of your 
horse's mane to fasten to their fish-hooks, and escape being 
kicked to death by a miracle. If you take a small boy to a 
place of amusement and say that he is six years old, my 
ambitious young gentleman will shout out, " No, no ; I am 
seven ; I am not a child," and you have to pay full price 
for him. 

But this is not the worst. Children are our spies, our 
enemies, our denunciators. They observe everything with 
watchful eyes. Nothing escapes them. The monsters ! 
One learns to tremble at their vicinity ! With their pre- 
tended innocence and candor they betray the secrets of the 
kitchen, the parlor, the boudoir, the toilet. Bridget in the 
kitchen hides away eggs, flour, and sugar, to take to her 
family, and gives a bottle of her master's ale to the police- 
man at the door. Does she think that no one sees her ? 
futile idea ! Little Johnny tells all about it that same eve- 
ning at the dinner-table. Afterward, in the drawing-room, 
he discovers to the disenchanted, discouraged lover the 
little box from whence is derived the lovely bloom on his 
sweetheart's cheek, and chuckles as he betrays the cotton 
lies of her corsage. He pulls out of the lover's pocket the 



114 Children. 



whisker dye, which makes the admired whiskers and curling 
mustache so glossy and black ; and he takes infinite care to 
tell every visitor all the depreciating things which have been 
said of him on previous occasions. 

What indignation, what separations, what direful catas- 
trophes, have not these bandits in jackets and petticoats 
caused by their unexpected tattlings ! And how much do 
they care ? Children are naturally ferocious — they delight 
in cruelty ; they pluck out flies' wings ; they bury rabbits 
alive ; they play at hanging ; they stab their dolls, and 
dance around with glee to see the sav^'-dust blood flowing ; 
and thus, naturally, it is never of an unimportant subject 
that they babble ; it is ^Iways of something dangerous, as 
they sit on the lap or dance on the knees of their victims. 

Everybody has read the anecdote of the fond mamma, 
who called her little girl in to play on the piano for the en- 
tertainment of the great Dr. Johnson : — 

" That piece was very difficult of execution," she sim- 
pered, as the child finished. 

" And would to God it had been impossible " roared the 
irate Dr. Johnson. 

Make a note of this, ye exhibiting mammas. Call 
your drawing-rooms " Tommy Tiddler's Ground ; " inva- 
sion upon which will be followed by consequences too dire 
to specify. Padlock the nursery door when you have com- 



Children. 



"5 



pany to dinner, talk in unknown tongues when the children 
are present, if you wish to communicate anything confiden- 
tial. These rules, with frequent washings, occasional whip- 
pings, and keeping entirely out of sight, are all that is need- 
ed to make your darlings as charming to others as they are 
to you. 





IN SCHOOL-DAYS. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

(Recited by Miss Florence Newton.) 

TILL sits the school-house by the road, 
A ragged beggar sunning ; 
Around it still the sumachs grow, 
And blackberry vines are running. 

Within, the master's desk is seen. 

Deep scarred by raps official ; 
The warping floor, the battered seats, 

The jack-knife's carved initial ; 

The charcoal frescos on its wall ; 

The door's worn sill, betraying the feet 
That, creeping slow to school, 

Went storming out to playing ! 

Long years ago, a winter's sun 

Shone over it at setting ; 
Lit up its western window-panes 

And low eaves' icy fretting. 



In School-days. 117 



It touched the tangled golden curls, 
And brown eyes full of grieving, 

Of one who still her steps delayed 
When all the school were leaving. 

For near her stood the little boy 

Her childish favor singled ; 
His cap pulled low upon a face 

Where pride and shame were mingled. 

Pushing with restless feet the snow 
To right and left, he lingered ; — 

As restlessly her tiny hands 

A blue-checked apron fingered. 

He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt 
The soft hand's light caressing. 

And heard the tremble of her voice. 
As if a fault confessing. 

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word : 

I hate to go above you. 
Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — 

" Because, you see, I love you !" 



1 1 8 In School-days. 



Still memory to a gray-haired man 
That sweet child-face is showing. 

Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 
Have forty years been growing ! 

He lives to learn, in life's hard school, 
How few who pass above him 

Lament their triumph and his loss, 
Like her, — because they love him. 





THE FADING ROSEBUD. 

MRS. MARY DANA SHINDLER. 

(Read by the A uthor.') 

HAD a lovely rosebud 

Just opening full and free, 
I placed it on my bosom 
And fair it was to see ; 
My heart was proudly swelling, 

When every passer by 
Admired my beauteous flower 
That blosom'd but to die. 

Awhile it gaily flourish'd 

Nursed by affection's dew. 
And every passing hour 

More beautiful it grew ; 
Each tender leaf, unfolding, 

A brilliant hue display'd, 
I thought a lov'lier flower 

Was surely never made. 



The Fading Rosebud. 



One day I saw it drooping, 

It leaned upon my breast ; 
With paleness, and with trembling, 

I saw it sink to rest ; 
I knew not it was dying, 
Though paler still it grew, 
And I vainly strove to save it 
By all that love could do. 

" Oh, must I lose my Rosebud, 

The only one I have ? 
Is there no skilful gardner 

My precious flower to save ? " 
Vain, vain, was all my praying, 

A worm was at the core, 
And, drooping on my bosom, 

It wither'd more and more. 

At length I heard a whisper — 

" Oh, suffer it to come 
To me, the Heavenly Gardner, 

And I will take it home. 
In my fair garden growing, 

Are many buds like thine ; 
In bright, celestial beauty, 

Sweet flowers, how they shine I ' 



The Fadiijs: Rosebud. 



I raised my tearful eyelids, 

And lo ! a form of light, 
Just like the risen Jesus, 

Then met my wond'ring sight ; 
And while I strove to tell Him 

That He might take it home, 
Again I heard Him saying, 

" Oh, suffer it to come ! " 

The glory round Him shining 

Spread heavenly light afar. 
And, in each hand extended, 

1 saw the fatal scar ; 
Then, too, I saw, with anguish. 

The wound upon His side ; 
By those sad marks I knew him, 

'Twas he — the Crucified ! 

Then, with heart-breaking sorrow, 

I kiss'd my faded flower, 
A long farewell 1 gave it. 

That well-remember'd hour ; 
One dark and painful struggle 

Now rack'd my tortur'd mind, 
And then, with sighs and weeping, 

My rosebud I resign'd. 



llie Fading Rosebud. 



'Twas folded to His bosom, 

And, as He placed it there, 
I saw new life returning 

Beneath his fostering care ; 
And, though I felt so lonely 

And throb'd my heart with pain, 
I dared not, and I wished not, 

To call it back again. 

And then the loving Jesus 

Cast such a look on me, 
And said to me so sweetly, 

" Fear not, I'll comfort thee," 
That I all calmly waited 

To see them take their flight, 
Till, in a flood of glory. 

They vanished from my sight. 





A ROYAL PRINCESS. 

CHRISTINA G. ROSETTI. 

(Recited by Anna Randall Diekl.) 

A PRINCESS, king-descended, decked with jewels, 

gilded, drest, 
Would rather be a peasent with her baby at her breast, 
For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the West. 

Two and two my guard behind, two and two before. 
Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore ; 
Me, poor dove, that must not coo, — eagle that must not soar. 

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow 
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow 
That are costly, out of season, as the seasons go. 

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace 
Self to right-hand, self to left-hand, self in every place ; 
Self-same solitary figure, eelf-same seeking face. 

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon. 

Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne ; 

There I sit uplifted and upright, there I sit alone. 



124 A Royal Princess. 



Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end ; 

My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend — 

O my father ! O my mother ! have you ne'er a friend ? 

As I am a lofty princess, so my father is 

A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, 

Holding in his strong right-hand world-kingdoms' balances. 

He has quarreled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes ; 
Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, 
Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows. 

On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state 
To break the strength of armies and topple down the great : 
Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate. 

My father, counting up his strength, sets down with efpial pen 
So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men ; 
These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when. 

Some to work on roads, canals ; some to man his ships ; 
Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips ; 
Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. 

Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood. 
That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood ; 
Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. 



A Royal Princess. 125 



Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay ; 
On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray, 
My father, frowning at the fare, seemed every dish to weigh. 

I sat beside them, sole princess in my exalted place. 
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais : 
A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face ; 

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, 

Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known. 

They laugh by day, they sleep by night ; ah me, what is a throne ? 

The singing men and women ^ang that night as usual. 
The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, 
A melancholy windy fall, as at a funeral. 

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept ; 

Mv ladies loosed my golden chain ; meantime I could have wept 

To think of some in galling chains whether they walked or slept. 

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on. 

They burned sweet things for my delight, ceder and cinnamon. 

They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone. 

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said : 
" Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed ; 
Men, like famished dogs, are howling in the streets for bread." 



126 A Royal Princess. 



So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, 

Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear ; 

Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. 

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark : 

" There are families out grazing like cattle in the park." 

" A pair of peasants must be saved, even if we build an ark." 

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way ; 
One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day ; 
One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. 

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp ; 

Voices said : " Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp 

To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp." 

" Howl and stamp ?" one answered : " they made free to hurl a stone 
At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." 
" There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be 

mown." 
" One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, 
Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread ; 
Then he dropped ; when some one raised him, it turned out he 

was dead." 
" After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh : 
" If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." 
" While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff." 



A Royal Princess. 127 



These passed the king. " Stand up," said my father with a smile : 
" Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, 
She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile ?" 

He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait 
(I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate). 
Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state ; 

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene ? 
There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between ; 
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the Queen ? 

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp words of command : 
" Charge !" a clash of steel : " Charge again : the rebels stand. 
Smite and spare not, hand to hand ; smite and spare not, hand to 
hand." 

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher ; 
A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire ; 
I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire. 

" Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your 

bread, 
You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said : 
" Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head." 



128 A Royal Princess. 



Nay, this thing will I do while my mother tarrieth, 

I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, 

I will take my gold and gems and rainbow fan and wreath ; 

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my head, 

I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand 

Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. 

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give ; 
I, if I perish, perish : they to-day shall eat and live ; 
I, if I perish, perish ; that's the goal I half conceive : 

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show 
The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know - 
I, if I perish, perish ; in the name of God I go. 




THE COWS ARE IN THE CORN. 



SUNG BY MRS. BELLE COLE. 



H father's gone to market-town, 
He was up before the day, 
And Jamie 's hunting robin's nests,. 




And the man is making hay, 

And whistling up the hollow goes 

The boy that minds the mill. 

While mother from the kitchen door 

Is calling with a will, 

" Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn." 



From off the misty morning air 

There comes a sudden sound, 

A murmur as of water comes 

From ship and tree and ground, 

The birds are singing on the wing, 

The pigeons bill and coo, 

And o'er hill and valley rings 

Again the loud halloo, 

"Polly ! Polly ! The cows are in the corn." 



I30 



The Coivs are in the Corn. 



'Tis strange at such a time of day 

The mill should stop its clatter, 

The farmer's wife is listening now 

And wonders what 's the matter, 

And wild the birds are singing 

In the woodland on the hill. 

While whistling, up the hollow goes 

The boy that minds the mill, 

" Polly ! Poly ! The cows are in the corn. 




THE FISH-BALL. 



ROBERT K. MUNKITTRICK. 

(Read by the Author.) 




ET poets sing 

The chicken's wing, 

And buckwheat cakes and griddle fishes, 
And side by side 
Place lobster fried, 
Pork chops and other comic dishes ; 
But yet unto my dying day. 

While o'er my reason I am lord, 
I'll stand before the world and say : 
" The fish-ball is its own reward ! " 

I'm fond of ham, 

And crimson jam. 
And macaroni crowned with bacon ; 

Yet while I sigh 

For cake and pie. 
My faith in clams remains unshaken ; 



132 



The Fish-ball. 



But when my fancy 's running wild, 
And I'm by no gay lark out-soared, 

I preach to woman, man, and child, 
" The fish-ball is its own reward !" 

O gay marine 

You're often seen 
Nailed up against a door or shutter ; 

The little boy 

Just jumps with joy 
To see you served with milk and butter. 
Oh ! dwelt I far beyond the sea. 
By fifty thousand girls adored, 
The motto of my soul would be : 
" The fish-ball is its own reward !" 

O noble cod ! 
To you I nod ; 
You make me sad and meditative ; 
When toned with wine 
You're quite divine 
Unto the Massachusetts native. 
Oh ! when I'm old, and bent, and gray. 
With wholesome morals richly stored, 
I'll boldly face the world and say : 
" The fish-ball is its own reward ! " 




POE'S HOUSE AT FORDHAM. 

MRS. MARTHA J. LAMB. 

{Read by the Author.) 

HERE is Fordham ? 

The very question I asked of Sophomoros. 
" Is it possible that you do not know ? " he re- 
plied, deferentially at first, but growing insufferably pom- 
pous as he proceeded ; " how singular that any one who has 
studied the geography of the different countries of the 
world through actual travel should be obliged to come 
down to first principles, and institute home researches ! 
Fordham is an inconspicuous portion of New- York City, a 
few miles north of Harlem River." 

"Thank you," I said meekly: "I was aware of that 
fact in a general way, but it being a place, like some faces, 
which never made special impression upon my memory, I 
am not able to locate it with precision. Hov/ may it be 
reached ? " 

" Variously ; chiefly by steam and horse-cars. Boats 
do not run up there yet. It is not so much their fault as 



134 Poes House at Fordham. 



their inability to navigate dry land. Have you any violent 
call in that direction ? " 

" I wish to visit the home of Edgar Allan Poe, and if 
the steam-cars are available I will go this morning." 

Sophomoros made investigations, and announced that 
there was a train at a quarter-past nine. 

As I was hurrying to catch it, he overtook me, panting, 
and exclaimed : 

" It is the Harlem Railroad cars you want. I will 
show you to them." 

" And why not the New-Haven ? " I asked, as we 
threaded our weary way through the labyrinth of appar- 
ently endless uncertainties inside the Grand Central Depot. 

" Because they won't let you off at Fordham. They 
would never dare go tooting through New- England again if 
they lowered their intense respectability by stopping at so 
insignificant a station." 

"Where ?iXQ you going ! " the train was moving, and I 
spoke excitedly instead of interrogatively, for I had an in- 
tuition that Sophomoros, after the reckless manner of col- 
lege boys, contemplated a jump in front of old Columbia. 

'' To the home of the poet. I may as well. I have no 
recitations of importance to-day, and I would really like to 
see where my personal benefactor resided," he replied. 

" Personal benefactor ? " I repeated. 



Poes House at Fordham. i ^5 



" But there was no time for explanations. 'An old lady 
pushed into the seat beside me, and Sophomoros, who was 
standing, walked to the end of the car and looked through 
the door at the prospect. Into the tunnel, out again, 
through dark passages, over bridges, past groves and cot- 
tages, and in less than thirty-five minutes the ride was 
accomplished. Then came a walk of nearly half a mile. 
We crossed the railroad track, and a wide, dusty street, 
paused at the door of a little twelve-foot cube real-estate 
office, for specific directions, and then ascended a pictu- 
resque hill, upon the very backbone of which stands the 
house where Poe wrote "The Raven." 

I approached it with a feeling of reverence. I hardly 
knew which struck me the more forcibly, its diminutive size 
or its quaint antiquity. The gable-end is partially sheltered 
from the street by an aged cherry-tree, with wide-spreading 
branches, and pear and apple trees of a former generation 
hover about on its other sides, like sentinels on duty. The 
fence which incloses both house and grounds is lined with 
lilac and currant bushes. Pushing open a little gate, we 
stepped gently over the walk and upon a low veranda 
which decorates the south front. 

" Grandma ! grandma !" cried a voice from an invisible 
source, "somebody's come." 

Presently a feeble-looking woman, wearin the inevita- 



136 Poes House at Ford/iam. 



ble cap and spectacles of eighty, hobbled around the cor- 
ner from the kitchen, and in answer to my modest inquiries, 
said : 

" Oh, I don't know. S/ie can tell you all about it when 
s/ie comes. She won't be long away. There s/ie is, now," 
directing my glance to a young woman, who was coming up 
the street with her arms full of parcels. 

" She w\is undoubtedly the mistress of the mansion. 
As soon as she learned the object of my visit she went 
round and opened the little narrow door from the inside, 
and admitted us to a low, square parlor. 

" This is the room where Mr. Poe did his writing," she 
said, with an air of justifiable pride in the felicitous posses- 
sion. " We have not been here long enough to fix up the 
place much. It's dreadfully out of repair. The chimney 
smokes so that we can hardly stay in the kitchen. There 
are two rooms on this floor and two rooms above, but the 
house is full of little closets and nooks, and more roomy 
than it seems." 

She was picking up and putting away various articles 
that were lying on the chairs, and certainly did open doors 
in most unexpected places. But a mist circled about me, 
and I lost sight of her altogether. Another presence seem- 
ed to prevade the apartment. A tall, lithe, graceful, manly 
figure, with a classic head well poised, a handsome pale face, 



Poe s House at Fordham. 137 



over which a smile seldom played, and large, dark, variably- 
expressive eyes, looking grave and tender melancholy, or 
shooting fiery tumult, according to his mood. A brilliant 
but erratic star. A genius, perhaps not of the highest order, 
but none the less a genius. A poet who thrilled the world 
with many wondrous harmonies. An author of honorable 
position among leading creative minds. An artist in the 
use of words, with rare gifts of invention and expression. 
A critic who regarded an ambiguous sentence, a false rhyme, 
or a dull book, in the light of a high crime, and who brought 
down his lash with such a stinging cut that it always left a 
scar. A man excessively and essentially human, whose in- 
firmities of character and disposition were the bane of his 
career, and the occasion of all manner of inglorious experi- 
ences. There was a fitness, something even poetical, in the 
framework of his surroundings. Two windows to the north 
opened upon an exceptionally beautiful landscape in sum- 
mer, and a wide expanse of immaculate snow in winter ; and 
two windows to the south swept the pretty garden and fields 
beyond. Thus there was no lack of sunlight to reveal the 
contradictory hauteur and sweetness in his ever-changeful 
countenance, as, sitting at the round table in the centre, he 
plied his ready pen ; and, in their season, the perfume of 
many flowers, and the music of birds and bees, filled the air 
which fanned his brow. 



138 Poes House at Fordham. 



" If you will walk up stairs I will show you the cham- 
ber where Mr. Poe slept, and where they say his mother-in- 
law used to lock him up for days together/' broke in upon 
my reverie. 

I followed my guide in resentful silence. Her reminder 
was inopportune, to say the least. Truth is less welcome 
than fiction when it turns the canvas so as to show that a 
monarch of marvellous intellectual powers and possibilities 
can be an abject slave to the miserable vice of drunkenness. 
Poe did not, as many suppose, do his fine work under the 
influence of stimulants, but he drank to excess periodically. 
One glass of wine, and his whole nature was reversed. All 
that was angelic within him became demoniac. His will 
was obviously, raid for the time, irresponsibly insane. 

The chamber had a roofed ceiling, with a sharp point 
in the centre. At the east end was a high wooden mantle, 
with a small, square window on each side of it, and there 
was a little, one-paned window under the eaves to the south. 
For an instant Poe's " Philosophy of Furniture " flashed 
across my mind, and his words, " The soul of the room is 
the carpet ; a judge of common law may be an ordinary 
man ; a good judge of a carpet must be a genius," stood 
out in living colors upon the floor. Then my eye fell upon 
the door, with its queer, little, old-fashioned panels, and 
last century's latch two-thirds of the way to the top. Little 



Poes House at Fordhajn. 139 



weird lights danced about me, and a chord vibrated which 
filled my soul with pleasant mournfulness, as I saw before 
me the picture of the sad, haunted scholar, struggling with 
fate and memory, personated in the raven on the bust of 
Pallas above his chamber-door. 

The vision clung to me long after I had turned back to 
commonplaces and the head of the steep, winding staircase. 
I paused once more in the little study-parlor where Poe 
spent so many checkered hours. And again it seemed full 
of him — the shrewd, arrogant, thoughtful, irreverent, cold, 
cynical, melancholy, versatile scholar — him who, in his most 
eccentric vagaries, never committed an offense against rhe- 
torical propriety ; him who, day after day, and month after 
month, with studious patience, analyzed the theory and re- 
sources of versification ; him vv^ho, although not given to 
gushing spontaneity, was skilled in bringing the life and 
grace of his rhythm into dependence upon the spirit beneath. 

I found Sophomoros sitting upon a plateau of rock in 
the southeastern part of the grounds. It was large enough 
to accommodate a picnic-party, and was ornamented with 
moss, primroses, and blackberry-briers. It commanded a 
charming and imposing view of country scenery, from the 
Hudson River to Long-Island Sound. 

" What are you doing? " I inquired abstractedly. 

" Speculating in Fordham lots ; figuring in my mind 



140 Poes House at Fordham. 



how New-York is going to look when it is finished with 
churches, colosseums, and hippodromes, as far as the eye 
can reach from this point. — Bye-the-bye, Mr. Poe had rather 
a cheerful home here," he continued, regarding the cottage 
and its strip of land with marked attention. " I wonder if, 
in any of his most extravagant flights of fancy, he ever sus- 
pected the city of designs upon his poetical quiet ? For 
my part, I cherish Poe's memory with gratitude because of 
the little twist it gave my future. You see I had about 
made up my mind to be a genius — do a little of the fine 
frenzy myself. Then I blundered upon his ' Philosophy of 
Composition,' and one glimpse of his picture of the ' vacil- 
lating crudities of thought ' — the true purpose seized at 
the last moment, the innumerable glimpses of ideas that 
never arrived at the maturity of a full view, the fully matur- 
ed fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable, the cau- 
tious selections and rejections, the painful erasures and 
interpolations, the wheels, the tackle, and scene-shifting, 
and step-ladders, and demon-traps — was sufficient to con- 
vince ms that I should rather be a private citizen." 

" Do you know or remember all the points in Poe's his- 
tory," I exclaimed with sudden energy. " He was born 
under the sunny skies of Virginia, and his inheritance was 
the strange waywardness which has made his life a puzzle 
and a mystery to the world. He was left an orphan in child- 



Poe's House at Fordham. 141 



hood ; was adopted by a man of wealth ; was petted ; 
educated ; furnished with unusual facilities for study and 
travel ; supplied freely with money, and, unrestrained either 
by sound principle or discipline, acquired luxurious, disso- 
lute, and reckless, instead of business habits ; and, when 
his large expectations vanished through his not having been 
named in the will of his so-called benefactor, he found 
himself illy able to cope with the necessities of exist- 
ence. He turned to literature without profound literary 
motives, and he had no tact in converting mental fruits into 
bank-accounts. His whole course was up-hill, and there 
was a drag attached to him." 

We left the rock at length and went back to the house, 
but it was only to ask for water from the well with its old- 
fashioned curb and windlass and very cranky crank. 

" That was Mr. Poe's cow-house over there," said the 
young woman, as she drew up the bucket, pointing with one 
hand toward a little stone inclosure some six feet square in 
the side of the lodge. Some chickens were playing about 
it, and a few clambering vines hung over the half-tumbling 
wall in a disappointed kind of way, as if regretting the roof 
which time had demolished. 

The mid-day sunbeams were dancing riotously among 
the trees and shrubs and newly-made flower beds as we took 
a long, lingering, and mute farewell of the poetical dwell- 



142 Poes House at Fordham. 



ing-place, so fruitful in associations. He of the holy min- 
strelsy has slept his last sleep for a quarter of a century, but 
his world-wide reputation will only brighten and deepen as 
the years roll on. 

*' Hark ! " interrupted Sophomoros, " do you not hear 
the bells ? " " The past lies buried, but the poet's bells — 

How they ring ! " 

" Silver bells. 

What a world of merriment their melody foretells, 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

On the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight — 

Keeping time, time, time. 

In a sort of Runic rhyme 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells. 

Bells, bells, bells. 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells." 

Sophmoros had risen to his feet and was looking above 
and around him as he recited. " Hark ! " he said, " the air 
is full of bells ! " 

" The mellow wedding bells 
Golden bells. 



Poes House at Fordham. 143 



What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ; 
What a gush of sentiment voluminously wells 
On the moon, 
All in tune ; 

How it wells 

How it swells 

How it dwells 

On the future ! how it tells 

Of the rapture that impels 

To the ringing and the swinging 

Of the bells, bells, bells. 

" Hear the loud alarum bells ! 

Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled hour of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 
Too much horrified to speak 
They can only shriek, shriek. 

Out of tune — " 

" No ! the world is not on fire to-day : it is neither the 
alarum nor the " 

" Tolling bells, 

That a world of pleasant thought their 

Melody compels, 



144 Poe s House at Fordhain. 

And yet the people, oh the people — 

They that dwell up in the steeple, 
All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 
In that muffled monotone, 

Take delight in so rolling 
On the human heart a stone — 

They are beating time, time, time. 

In a sort of Runic rhyme 

To the throbbing of the bells — 

Of the bells, bells, bells— 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Oh the people 
In that steeple, 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a pretty Runic rhyme — 

To the rolling of the bells 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the tolling of the bells 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 

Bells, bells, bells, 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells." 

Was it the voice of the laughing boy, or actual bells 
which died away in the musical cadency upon the soft sum- 
mer breeze ? 



A RHYME OF THE RAIN. 



ROSSITER JOHNSON. 

(Reati by the A uthor.) 




IKE a blotch upon a beauty, 

Comes a cloud across the sky ; 
Like an unrelenting duty, 
Fall the rain-drops from on high ; 
Like death upon a holiday. 

Like sleigh-ride upon wheels, 
Like jilting on a jolly day, 
Like medicine at meals, 
Sets in a storm preposterous, 

Of every plan the bane ; 
Now sullen, and now boisterous. 
Malicious, mean, or roisterous, 
But always moist and moisture-ous, 
Forever on the gain, 
And never on the wane, 
Bringing sudden consternation, 
And a long-drawn botheration, 
To the men upon the house-top, and the cattle 
in the plain. 



146 A Rhyme of the Rain. 



How it pours, pours, pours, 

In a never-ending sheet ! 
How it drives beneath the doors ! 

How it soaks the passer's feet ! 
How it rattles on the shutter ! 

How it rumples up the lawn ! 
How 'twill sigh, and moan, and mutter, 

From darkness until dawn ! — 
Making human life a burden. 

Making joy a flimsy wile. 
Making bondage seem a guerdon 
In the rainless fields of Egypt, by the clever 
river Nile. 



Yet how pleasantly the rain, 
With its delicate refrain. 

May sing away the sultriness of summer day 
or night ! — 
Set the drooping grass a-springing. 
And the robin's throat a-ringing, 

Fill the meadow-lands with verdure, and the 
hills with glistening light ! — 
Or in April, fickle-hearted. 
Ere the chill has quite departed, 



A Rhyme of the Rain. 147 



That the frosts, and the snows, and the howling 
winds have brought, 
When all the signs of gladness 
'I'ake a sombre tinge of sadness. 

For days and deeds that come no more, and 
dreams that fell to naught ! 
Then, in half-unwelcome leisure, 
'Tis a sort of solemn pleasure 
To sit beside the ingle, 
Or to lie beneath the shingle. 

And listen to the patter of the rain, rain, rain, 
To the drip, drip, drip. 
And the patter, patter, patter. 

On the roof, and the shutter, and the pane, 
pane, pane. 

But whether night or daytime. 
In harvest-time or play-time, 
And whether pour or patter. 
The early rain or latter 
Reigns over human purpose, and plays with 
human fears — 
Sets mighty armies shouting. 
Sends little Cupid pouting, 
Turns trusting into doubting. 
And triumph into tears. 



148 A Rhyme of the Rain. 



Oh ! sadly I remember 
One treacherous September, 

When the autumn equinoctial came a week or 
so too soon. 
I had started, with a cousin, 
For the church, among a dozen 
Maids and matrons who were airing 
The fall styles, and gayly wearing 

The very newest, sweetest thing in bonnets 
'neath the moon. 

And midway of the journey. 
Like a thousand knights in tourney. 
The levelled lances of the rain drove furious at 
our breast ; 
And the fall styles fell and wilted, 
On the dames so proudly kilted. 
And by sudden transformation worse than 
worst became the best. 
Though I now am sere and yellow, 
I was then a valiant fellow. 
And esteemed it more a joy to serve the ladies 
than to live. 
Imagine, then, my feelings, 
'Mid the shrinkings and the squealings, 



A Rhyme of the Rain. 149 



When my water-proof umbrella proved a 

sieve, sieve, sieve ! 
When my shiny new umbrella proved a sieve ! 
What a sorry lot of mortals 
Sat within the sacred portals, 
In their mermaid millinery looking sad, sad, sad ! 
Nothing dry except the sermon. 
Which discoursed on dews of Hermon 
And the streams which, saith the Scripture, do 
make glad, glad, glad ! 
So the preacher praised the waters 
To those mothers, wives, and daughters, 
Every dripping, draggled one of whom was 
mad, mad, mad ! 
And my bright and handsome cousin, 
Sweetest girl among the dozen. 
Or among a dozen dozen you might meet along 
the way, — 
Then a hopeful, sprightly lassie, 
Now, I fear, a X\\X\q. passe'e, — 
Dates the ruin of her chances from that rainy 
Sabbath-day. 
She had spent her last round dollar 
For the bonnet, gloves, and collar 



150 A Rhyme of the Rain. 



That should have proved effective on the smart 
young pulpiteer ; 
But he rode home in the carriage 
Of her rival, and their marriage 
Was solemnized (my cousin's word) in less 
than half a year. 

But gladly I remember 
One crimson-hued September, 
When we strayed along the hedges and within 
the gorgeous wold ; 
A merry autumn party 
Of men and maidens hearty. 
Rejoicing in the foliage of scarlet and of gold ; 
And ere we thought of turning, 
Or saw a sign of warning, 
We heard ui)on the fallen leaves the footsteps 
of the rain. 
Away went rules conventional ! 
And I, with haste intentional, 
Just clapped my good old broad-brim on the 
head of Annie Blaine. 
That extemporized umbrella 
Threw cold water on a fellow 
Who was courting, in a lazy sort of way. Miss 
Annie Blaine ; 



A Khy)iu' of the Rain. 151 



While it made me quite a gallant, 

And a fine young man of talent, 
In the eyes and estimation of the beauteous 
Annie Blaine. 

In the dreamy summer haze 

Of my far-off boyish days, 
I had chased the luring butterfly across the 
grassy plain ; 

But I never threw my hat 

O'er a prize so fair as that 
When it sheltered, caught, and gave me, the 
lovely Annie Blaine. 

And I've blessed that gentle rain 

Again arid yet again. 
For the flowers it set blooming in my life ; 

For the crimson and the gold 

That adorn the little fold 
Where I find an autumn shelter with my wife. 




OLD HULDAH. 



E. NORMAN GUNNISON. 




(Recited hy Julia Thomas.^ 

HE fisherman stood all day by the beach — 
Stood where the breakers thundered in 
And heard the sound of the sea-bird's screech, 
And dash of waves on the rocks of Lynn. 

" The storm is fierce," said the fisher old ; 

" And the wind is wild," the fisher said, 
" The rocks are sharp, and the shore is bold, 

Where the p'int makes out from Marblehead. 

" And ev'ry ship that is now at sea. 

Bound in to Lynn or to Marblehead, 
Must keep the light three p'ints on the lee. 

Or be wrecked." So the fisher said. 

But not a pilot ventured out — 

The storm was fierce and the wind was wild, 
And the daring pilot, swart and stout 

Still thought of home and his wife and child — 



Old Huldah. 153 



Thought of them both as the wind made moan, 
The wind made moan to the breaker's shock ; 

For the world is hard to the left alone — 
Harder than any New-England rock. 

So the fisher waited by the shore, 

Hearing the waves and the breaker's din, 

And just at dusk, mid the tempests roar. 
The good ship Etna came sailing in. 

Staysails set and her courses furled, 
Close-reefed topsail upon her main 

To and fro was the good ship hurled 
Over the ocean's watery plain, 

Plain no longer, for mountain waves 

Broke the sea into furrows vast ; 
The white-caps rose over countless graves 

As the tempest thundered past. 

Up spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife ; 

Brown old dame of the fishing-coast, 
" Where's the pilot ! Every life 

Is saved if he keeps his post." 



154 Old Huldah. 



" There is no pilot at sea to-night," 
Said Abner Jackson, the skipper's son, 

While over the water came the light 
And booming crash of a signal-gun. 

" Heavens ! They are fetching past the land- 
Past the p'int ; they will strike the rock ! " 

Said Jothan Davis. Close at hand 
Came a crash and a rending shock. 

" Man the life-boat ! " No man stirred : — 

Over the din of wind and wave, 
Over the tempest's strife, was heard 

Save ! but no human hand could save. 

Clinging to the wave-washed deck, 

Men and women in wild despair 
Sent their pleading from off the wreck. 

Shuddering on the startled air. 

Then spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife 
" Does not a man to save them dare ! 

Will ye stand for a worthless life 

While they cry in their wild despair ? 



Old Huldah. 155 



" Shame on ye men ! A woman's hand 
Shall do the deed ye dare not try ! 

Who'll go with me from off the land ?" 
" I will ! and I ! and I ! and I 1 

There they stood in the dying light, 
Down by the boat with oars in hand, 

Five brave women — a braver sight 
Never before was seen on land. 

Up spoke gruffly Old Fisher Ben, 
Scarred old Triton of the sea ; 

" Man that boat ! Such a sight, my men, 
Never on earth was seen by me. 

" All we can do at worst is die, 
Better die," the old Triton said, 

"Than to live as cowards 'neath the eye 
Of the women of Marblehead." 

Abner Jackson then stepped out, 
Jothan Davis, and Skipper Ben, 

Bijah Norcross and Ireson Stout — 
That, they felt was the place for men. 



I c5 6 Old Huldah. 



Out past the point, where, mountain-high. 
Crested billows in foam were tost, 

Sometimes plain on the stormy sky. 
Sometimes hidden, and sometimes lost. 

Round the point on the stormy wave 

They reach the rock and gain the wreck ; 

Every life they seek to save 

Safe is taken from off the deck. 

And now strain hard, the goal is near, 
Each hand presses a bending oar. 

Shout, O fishermen ! cheer on cheer — 
Shout, for they have reached the shore, 

Shout for the women of Marblehead ! 




MAID OF ATHENS. 

LORD BYRON. 

(Sung by Mr. Williaju Court?iey.) 

*^"5»ajAID of Athens ere we part 

Give, oh, give me back my heart ; 
Or, since that has left my breast, 
Keep it now, and take the rest : 

By those tresses unconfined, 

Wooed by each ^gean wind. 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 

Kiss thy soft cheek's blooming tinge 
By those wild eyes like the roe. 

Hear my vow before I go. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone ; 

Think of me, sweet, when alone, 
Tho' I fly to Istamboul, 

Athens holds my heart and soul. 




MARY STUART AND M ARIE ANTOINETTE.'' 

MISS MINNIE SWAYZE. 

(Read by the Author.) 

HE execution of the Queen of the Scots has been 
so many times described, painter and poet and 
™ historian have so often delineated it, that it is as 
familiar to most readers as a nursery tale. The cold, gray 
morning breaks over the castle where, after sixteen years of 
prison pining, the wayward Queen has come at last to the 
end of her perturbed life. All then, or almost all, is finished 
— she is telling her last beads, she is murmuring her last 
prayers, she is writing the last pages which the weary hand 
shall ever trace. All her plots and plans, all the allurements 
of her beauty, all the sweet fascinations of a tongue which 
had misled to ruin so many gallant gentlemen, are over 
now. Shrewsbury and Kent have come down with the war- 
rant of execution. She has " thanked God that her suffer- 
ings are now so near an end." As a last effort of a grace 
which never failed her, she has drained one cup of wine to 
her weeping servants. With a woman's fastidiousness, she 



* Extract from a lecture on " Woman in the Purple. 



Mary Stuari and Mai'ie Antoinette. 159 



has made her last toilette ; not now to lure princes, not now 
to beguile embassadors, not now to please the gallant who 
for the time has arrested her fleeting fancy. Earthly courts 
and kings are nothing to her now — she stands upon the 
threshold of the final and greatest tribunal — she is soon to 
come into the presence of an omnipotent and omniscient 
Judge. She whose girlhood was spent in the joyous 
levity of French palaces, has, after only forty-four years of 
life — and of such a life ! come to her last hour — and such 
an hour ! to the grim and ghastly end of all. She died as 
she had lived — beautiful but inflexible, with something of 
the scenic brilliancy which she loved — grave but still grace- 
ful — queen and lady to the last ! 

Through all the strange drama of the French Revolu- 
tion, almost from its cold philosophical morning to its im- 
perial close, there glides a sweet and fascinating figure — 
pale Austria's purple flower — the ill-destined daughter of 
the Caesars There is an affecting story, when obsequious 
courtiers brought to the Dauphin and his girlish v/ife intelli- 
gence of the demise of Louis the Fifteenth, that both fell 
upon their knees and besought the guidance of Ciod — " We 
are so young," they said, "to reign." It was as if there 
had come to them, through some mysterious influence, a 
foreboding of the fate awaiting them. It is hard to judge 
the conduct of any unhappy queen with cool and judicial 



i6o Mary Stuart and Marie Afitoinette. 



accuracy — it is especially hard when the penalty has been 
out of all proportion to her offenses. It was a feeling of 
the substantial and coarse injustice with which Marie Antoi- 
nette had been treated by a nation making unusual preten- 
tions to chivalry and refinement, which inspired the magnifi- 
cent rhetoric of Burke, and drew from him a tribute to her 
beauty and her sufferings which the pride and pomp of an 
unchallenged and cloudless reign could hardly have inspir- 
ed. He had seen her at Versailles, " glittering like the 
morning star, full of life, splendor and joy," and in her fall 
his poetic nature read " the glory of Europe extinguished 
forever." There is something startling in the contrast sug- 
gested by the poetical Lamartine when he described her as 
"a real daughter of the Tyrol " — the contrast between the 
noisome squalor of her prison, surrounded by the ruins of 
the monarchy, and the fresh, free air of the everlasting hills. 
There is hardly any biography so full as hers of incon- 
gruous vicissitudes ; and perhaps no woman since the crea- 
tion of the world ever suffered so much in the same way. 
When she was but a babe the storms of the Austrian mon- 
archy raged about her cradle, and she was one of the chil- 
dren exhibited by Maria Theresa in her sore and desperate 
strait to her loyal Hungarians. The neck which was severed 
by the cruel axe had been renowned throughout Europe for 
its elegance ; she who bent sadly in the ignominious cart 



Marx Stuart and Marie Antoinette. i6i 



on her way to the guillotine, had been remarkable for the 
grace of her movements ; the light brown hair which she 
cut off on that last dark morning, had grown gray with un- 
speakable sorrow ; and the sovereign who had once been 
first of all her bright court in the taste and freshness of her 
toilette, made the journey from her dungeon to her doom in 
a tattered dress which her ])Oor, thin fingers had striven in 
vain to darn into decency. 

It is hardly possible to read without indignant tears 
the narrative of the torture and the ignominy to which this 
lady was subjected. Her death might have been necessary 
for the Republic, but not this studied and ingenious insult, 
this purposeless and savage cruelty, this gratuitous and 
ghastly degradation. She had been at one period of her 
reign frivolous and perhaps undignified ; she had been a 
good wife but not a wise one ; her mistakes, many and im- 
portant, cost her husband his throne and his life ; but her's 
had not been the vices which should provoke popular indig- 
nation, nor hers the crimes which can be pleaded in ex- 
tenuation of popular cruelty. On the contrary, there was 
much in her conduct and character which would have ap- 
pealed in her behalf to a mob only a little less frenzied and 
ferocious. Suddenly emancipated from the rigorous eti- 
quette of the Austrian court, she relished the comparative 
freedom of Versailles, and perhaps thought too lightly, at a 



i62 Marx Stuart and Marie Antoinette. 



time when royalty, was falling into disrepute, of the forms and 
modes and shows of state. For the rest, she was a good 
mother, a kind mistress and a constant friend. Yet with 
all the merits which these titles suggest, and with others 
which it is unnecessary to mention, it is impossible to deny 
that Marie Antoinette meddled with ])ublic affairs only to 
mar them, and made almost every mistake which circum- 
stances rendered possible. She does not appear to have 
had the least genius for the business of reigning. Her in- 
fluence over the King was unlimited, yet she brought him 
neither wisdom, policy nor success. She could never for- 
get that at one time she had been popular. If she favored 
a reform to-day, she bitterly opposed it on the morrow. 
The nobility about her were naturally imprudent and head- 
long — she made them doubly so by her countenance and 
persuasions. At an hour vv^hen safety, peace, reconciliation 
and the perpetuity of the throne depended upon her doing 
nothing, she was specially busy ; and she persisted in obtrud- 
ing herself, when her cooperation made failure a necessity. 
To invoke Austrian intervention was madness — and she 
invoked it. To attempt flight was folly — and she at- 
tempted it. To oppose the roaring tide of democratic 
innovation was death — and she opposed it. While she 
sought to save the throne by conspiracies no better than 
back-stairs and bed-chamber intrigues, the gigantic destinies 



Mary Stuart and Marie Antoinette. 163 



of the hour overwhelmed her and hers, and swept all away 
in a torrent of blood. We pity and we sympathize, but we 
cannot approve, and sometimes we cannot respect. AVe feel 
that the timidity and indecision of the king might have been 
profitably shared by this courageous woman. Destruction 
at last was in the false courage with which she inspired him, 
and her very efforts to preserve his dignity resulted in the 
most terrible of historical humiliations. 

The trial of the Queen, marked as it was by atrocious 
indignities, was probably harder for her to endure than the 
execution which opened to the weary prisoner the gates of 
Heaven and restored to her a murdered husband. Of these 
two scenes, each tragic in the extreme, the last is the least 
painful to consider. Both, however, melt and merge into 
each other for scant shrift was allowed the victim of hatred 
and popular insanity. She passed from the judgment-hall 
back to her prison, at four in the morning, just as day 
began to dawn, and sitting down, the most utterly lonely and 
forsaken of women, she wrote her last letter to her sister, 
asking nothing except that her orphans might be tenderly 
cared for. Then she prayed ; then for some hours she 
slept ; then awaking, she dressed herself for her death. 
Never had queen an humbler attendance, and never was 
tire-woman less needed by a queen. The daughter of her 
jailer helped her a little to adjust her hair. Then she 



164 Mary Stttart and Marie Antoinette. 



threw off the black robe which she had worn since the death 
of Louis, and put on a poor, patched, threadbare gown of 
white. In her white cap she left a single black ribbon as 
the token of her widowhood. Thus arr&yed for the guil- 
lotine, she waited the summons, while the scum of Parisian 
women thronged about the gratings, thirsting for the blood 
of the Austrian. Her journey in the ignominious cart to 
the place of execution has been a hundred times described, 
and the least vivid description it is hardly possible to read 
without tears. The air was full of insulting cries — " Live 
the Republic ! " " Place for the Austrian ! " " Room for 
the Widow Capet ! " The jolting of the cart — for her poor 
hands were bound — rendered it difficult for her to keep her 
seat. " These are not your cushions of Trianon," screamed 
the mob. No tears moistened her swollen eyes, until the 
cart stopped, for a moment, before the garden gate of the 
Tuilleries — the scene of her royal greatness — and then the 
scalding drops fell upon the knees above which her head 
was bending. Standing upon the platform awaiting her exe- 
cutioner who trembled more than she did, she looked to- 
wards the tower of the Temple where her children were ; 
" Adieu," she said, " 1 go to rejoin your father ! " Though 
she knelt and uttered a half audible prayer, something of 
the great soul of her mother animated her in that dread 
hour — she seemed to despise her murderers and to be eager 



Mary Stuart and Marie Antoinette. 165 



for her last moment. The axe falls ; France is forever dis- 
honored ; put to shame forever in history, not by the crime 
of this needless outrage, but by the thousand hateful cir- 
cumstances which attended it — disgraced not by the deed 
itself, but by the savage mania which prohibited a natural 
remorse and a human grief at such a torture and at such a 
death. In the presence of so dark a fate, criticism pauses 
and censure is dumb, faults are forgotten and we think only 
of the wife, the widow and the mother. Hers was indeed 
the broadest and the bitterest revenge in history — for no 
wild democrat of either sex raised hand or voice against 
her who will not be detested by the race to the end — who 
will not be hated of women and abhorred of men, until 
time shall be no more. 




THE IRISHMAN'S PANORAMA. 




JAMES S. BURDETT. 



lADIES and gintlemen : In the foreground over 
thare yer'll observe Vinegar Hill, and should yer be 
goin' by that way some day, yer moight be fatigued, 
an' if yer ar' yer'll foind at the fut o' the hill a nate little cot 
kept by a man name McCarty, who, be the way, is as foine 
a lad as yor'll mate in a day's march. I see by the hasp on 
the door that McCarty's out, or I'd take yes in an' introduce 
yer. A foine, noble, ginerous fellar this McCarty, shure, 
an' if he had but the wan peratie he'd give yer half it, an' 
phot's more, he'd thank yer for takin' it. (Move the crank, 
James. Music be the bagpipes, Larry.) 

Ladies an' gintlemen : We've now arrived at a beautiful 
shpot, situated about twinty moiles this side o' Limerick. 
To the left over thare yer'll see a hut be the side of which is 
sated a lady an' gintleman ; well, as I was goin' that way 
wan day, the following conversation I heard 'twixt him an' 
her. Says she to him : " James, it's a shame for yer to be 
ratin' me so — yer moind the time yer came to me father's 
castle a-beggin' !" " Yer father's castle, me woife ? shure 



The IrisJimaii s Panorama. 167 



yer could shtand on the outside, stick yer arm down the 
chimney, pick peraties out o' the pot, and divil a partition 
betwixt you and the hogs but shtraw I (Move the crank, 
James, etc.) 

Ladies and gintlemen : We are now arrived at the 
beautiful and classical* Lakes of Killarney. Thare's a 
curious legend connected wid dese lakes that I mus' relate 
to yer. It is that every avenin', at foor o'clock in the after- 
noon, a beautiful swan is seen to make its appearance, and 
while movin' along transcendently and glidelessly, ducks its 
limbs, skips under the water, and yer'll not see him again till 
the next afternoon. (Turn the crank, James, etc.) 

Ladies and gintleman : We have no' arrived at another 
beautiful shpot, situated about thirteen an' a half miles this 
side of Coruk. This is a grate place, noted for shportsmen, 
an' phile shtopping over thare at the Hotel de Finney, the 
following tilt of a conversation occurred betwixt Mr. Mul- 
dooney, the waiter, and meself. I says to him, says I, 
" MuUy, ould boy, will you have the kindness to fetch me 
in the mustard ?" an' he was a long time bringin' it, an' I 
opportuned him for kapin' me, and says he to me, says he, 
" ]\Ir. McCune (that's me), I notice that you take a great 
dale of mustard wid your mate." " I do," says L Says he. 
" I notice that you take a blame sight of mate wid your 
mustard." (Move the crank, James, etc.) 



1 68 The Jris/ii/ia/i's Panorafna. 



Ladies and gintlemen : Before I close my Panarammat 
I'll show you one more picture. 

While travelling in the States, some years ago, for the 
benefit of my health, I took the cars for Chin-chin-nat-ti, 
State of Oh ho-ho, on me way to Mont-real and Quebec- 
que, in Can-a-da down the river Saint Larry o mae, till a 
place called Buff-lo, after which I struck a party going 
about eighteen an' a half miles north, till a place celebrated 
for its great waterfall, an' called Ni-a-ga-ra. 

While passin', by the Falls wan evenin' 1 overheard the 
foUowin' remarks pass between a lady an' gintleman. Says 
he to her, " Mary Ann," says he, " cast your eyes up on 
that ledge of rocks, and see that vast body of water a-rushin' 
down over the precipice. Isn't that a great curiosity ?" 
" I know that," says she, " but fou'dent it be a greater 
curiosity if they'd all turn round and pass back again ?" 

(James, turn the crank. Larry, give us " Home, Swate 
Home.") 





FOR CUPID DEAD. 

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 

{Ri-iti/ by the Author.) 

HEN love is dead, what more but funeral rites, — 
To lay his sweet corse lovingly to rest, 
To cover him with rose and eglantine, 
And all fair posies that he loved the best ? 

What more, but kisses for his close-shut eyes, 
His cold, still lips that never more will speak, — 

His hair, too bright for dust of death to dim, 
The flush scarce faded from his frozen cheek ? 

What more, but tears that will not warm his brow, 
Although they burn the eyes from whence they start ? 

No bitter weeping or more bitter words 

Can rouse to one more throb that pulseless heart. 

So dead he is, who once was so alive ! 

In summer, when the ardent days were long, 
He was as warm as June, as gay and glad 

As any bird that swelled its throat with song. 

So dead ! yet all things were his ministers, — 
All birds and blossoms, and the joyous June : 

Would they had died, and kept sweet Love alive ! 
Since he is gone, the world is out of tune. 




FRONTISPIECE OF NEW-VEAR PROGRAMME, 1881. 




NEW-YEAR GREETING. 

ISABELLA GRANT MEREDITH. 

{Read by the A nthor.) 

TEN-night since, I had a wondrous vision, 
A strange experience — exceeding queer ! 
On me was laid a most peculiar mission. 
As I'll relate, an' it please you to hear. 

Hush'd was the solemn swell of the great organ, 

Fled the last echo of its symphony. 
Spell-bound by music's merlin — Mr. Morgan, 

Who on the silent keys had turned the key. 

A sense of scents balsamic hover'd round me ; 

Fir, hemlock, hollies, mystic mistletoes. 
With subtle magic wove a web around me ; — 

You'll say that I was dreaming — I suppose ! 

Tho' Homer nod, not I, yet whiles I do muse, 
• Ere night, 'mid Heaven's star-cressets sets her torch ; 
I would not you should think, like Goody Two-Shoes 
I fell asleep and dreaming — in the church ! 



1 7 2 N'eiu - Year Greeting. 



The Christmas-tide was spent : its pleasant phases 
Yet lingered, like a charm of tricksy sprites, 

Its wreathed smiles, and greens, its games, and graces, 
Its gifts, gauds, wassail, waits, and dear delights. 

Its joy that to the world was given a Master, 
A realmless King, a Prince without a crown, 

To whom, with gifts, gold, spice and alabaster, 
The orient kings in homage bowed them down. 

But 'twas a ten-night later, as aforesaid. 
When that unwonted sight my vision bless'd ; 

What time, thro' twilight skies, bright Venus coursed 
To cast herself upon the young moon's breast. 

A pretty babe was in his cradle lying ; 

Twelve stately dames the tender infant nurst ; 
Born was he, e'en as the old year lay dying, 

At stroke of midnight, January first. 

His horoscope, cast by some old magician. 
Foretold him turbulent — of stormy mood, 

Nathless, methought that baby, in my vision, 
All that there is of pleasant, sweet and good. 



New - Year Greeting. 173 



Around him, lavish strown, lay many a blossom, 

The edelweis, and mystic roses blue, 
Twined close, and crush 'd against that tender bosom 

With darksome sprays of melancholy yew. 

Methought his hands held largess of successes, 
Of orange garlands, laurel wreaths, and bays ; 

Meanwhile the dames amidst their fond caresses. 
Gossiped of this, and that — all in his praise. 

His ancient lineage ; how, ere rocks Laurentian 
Were formed, it flourished, and in brilliance play'd 

O'er eozoic days, — I scarce need mention 
Long ere the man of river-drift was made, 

Or that cave-denizen — the first ascetic, 

Who cared for naught but fire, and flint, and bone 
Things comprehended well, by the ^Esthetic, 

But Greek and Hebrew unto me, I own. 

Up S])ake the child ; his sentiments invested 
In dialect all vowels, — precious sweeting ! 

Which meant, interpreted, His Grace requested 
That I, to you, would bear his loving greeting. 



174 ■ Neiv -Year Greeting. 



Sure, never was so wise a child, or witty ! 

He promised belles, boquets, balls, billets-doux, 
Wealth, wit, Esthetics, fame, to Jersey City, 

And wedding-wreaths, and rings to — you know who ! 

He grieves the best gift gone — she smiles before us ! — 
The choicest bloom pluckt from his natal bower. 

In this pale princess of the Tuscaroras, 

Ka-tci-tci-sta-kwast, meaning "beauteous flower." 

This princess who has words more clear and clever 
Than my poor muse can either think or sing ; — 

And, while I live, I never shall know — never, 
Why she has also asked of me this thing. 

To give you greeting — the new-year's kind greeting, 
For all the crowding hours that come anon, 

To wish you steadfast joys, your sorrows fleeting. 
And bid you God-speed, as your days go on. 

May the blue roses blossom for you, twining 

Bright bowers in fancy's realm — that moon-loved maze ! 

The fair ideal of the soul enshrining, 

With glad to-morrows, and dear yesterdays. 



N'eiii - Year Greetin?;. 



175 



When wave the yew's funereal branches slender, 
O'er some dark hour most full of grief and ill, 

May hope's star pierce the gloom, its ray of splendor 
With comfort fraught, and bringing blessing still. 

Time is my tedious rhyme should here have ending; 

May all good things and pleasant with you dwell. 
Gifts, graces, blessedness, your days attending ; 

Thus, O my friends, I greet you. Fare-you-well ! 




BIRCH BARK BOWL. GOURD KETTLE. CORN HISK BOTTLE. 
WEDDING CAKE IN CORN HUSK ENVELOPE. 



MYTHS OF THE IROQUOIS. 



MRS. ERMINNIE A. SMITH. 



" Let US revere them — 
These wilclwood legends, 
Born of the camp-tire, 
Let them be handed 
Down to our children — 
Richest of heirlooms. 
No land may claim them : 
They are ours only, 
Like our grand rivers 
Like our vast prairies, 
Like our dead heroes." 

.Vt.drich. 

HE instinctive desire in man to fathom the great 
mystery of human life ; to solve the enigma of 
'' whence he came and whitlier he goeth ; " to com- 
prehend the beginning and history of the dim, prehistoric 
past, and the more undefined future ; and to account for the 
marvels ever jiresented to his senses, has in all times excited 
the imagination and originated speculation. To account 
for all the phenomena of life and nature, the htmian mind 
has seized upon every analogy suggesting the slightest clue 
to their solution. In the statement of these analogies they 
have gradually become formulated into tales, or accounts of 




Myths of the Iroquois. \ii 



supposed events — these only varying with the temperament 
of the narrator or. the exigencies of the locality, where, oft 
repeated, they have in time been recorded on the hearts and 
minds of the people either as myths or folk-lore embodying 
the fossilized knowledge and ideas of a previous age, misin- 
terpreted, perhaps, by those who have inherited them. 

For the ethnologist Avho would trace in mythology the 
growth of the human mind, nowhere in this direction is the 
harvest so rich and over-ripe as among the aborigines of our 
own country who have hardly passed the boundaries of the 
charmed mytheopic age ; and among these, none are as rich 
in this love of " faded metaphors " as their highest type, the 
Iroquois, with whom even the language containing this 
wealth of folk-lore will soon disappear — lost through -its 
contact with American civilization. 

To what dignity this folk-lore might have attained had 
these people been left to reach a lettered civilization for 
themselves, we cannot know ; but judging from the history 
of other peoples, their first chroniclers would have accepted 
as facts many of these oral traditions which none could 
have disproved and much tended to corroborate. 

For our grandfather Hih-nunh, the Thunderer, say 
they, was gifted with powers which he used solely for the 
benefit of mortals ; hand-in-hand with his brother, the West- 
Wind, he brought from the black clouds the vivifying rain 



lyS Myths of the Iroquois. 



and from his abode under the great Niagarian cataract (at 
that time a mighty cave reaching from shore to shore), he 
issued forth and with his crushing bolt destroyed the great 
>sea monster which, poisoning the waters, sent abroad a 
deadly pestilence ; in proof of all this were not the bones of 
his victims, the giant lizards, often discovered ? When this 
earthly mission of Hih-nunh was accomplished, a power- 
ful current of water destroyed his terrestrial home, the 
spacious watery cave, and he took up his abode in the 
sky. 

Then came the race of pygmies, small in stature but 
mighty in skill and deeds, who carved out the beauties of 
rock, cliff, and cave, and were endowed with the mightier 
power of destroying monster land-animals which infested 
the forest, endangering the life of man. 

And did not cliff, rock, and grotto attest the skill of 
that departed race, and did not the exhumed bones of giant 
animals bear as perfect witness to their former existence and 
power and the truth of this lore, as did the "Homo diluvige 
testis " of a century ago confirm the story of the deluge. 

The historian who treats of Rome does not disdain to 
tell us that its founder Romulus and his twin-brother were 
in their infancy thrown into the Tiber by order of Aumulius, 
but that the gods who had ordained his destiny stopped the 
river in its course and, sending the she-wolf to nourish the 



MytJis of the Iroquois. 179 



rescued infant, he was preserved to become the founder of 
Rome and of the Roman people. 

Josephus tells us that Japhet had seven sons, and from 
Ivan, the fairest, the Grecians were derived. The Hebrew 
race, reaching further into the past, claim Adam and Eve as 
their ancestors. 

So also the Iroquois has his ideas of an origin of the 
human race which includes also the creation of the Spirits 
of Good and Evil. It was in the great past when deep 
waters covered all the earth. The air was filled with birds 
and great monsters were in possession of the waters, when a 
beautiful woman was seen falling from the sky. Then 
huge ducks gathered in council and resolved to meet this 
wonderful creature and break the force of her fall. So they 
arose and, with pinion overlapping pinion, unitedly received 
the dusky burden. Then the monsters of the deep also 
gathered in council to decide which should receive this celes- 
tial being and protect her from the terrors of the water, but 
none was able except a giant tortoise who volunteered to 
endure this lasting weight upon his back ; there she was 
gently placed, while he, constantly increasing in size, soon 
became a large island. Twin boys were at length given to 
the world's great mother — one being, the Spirit of Good, who 
made all things good and caused the maize, fruit, and to- 
bacco to grow ; the other was the Spirit of Evil, who created 



i8o Myths of tlie Iroquois. 



the thistle and all vermin. Ever the world was increasing 
in size, although occasional quakings were felt, caused by the 
efforts of the monster tortoise to stretch out his extensors, 
or by the contraction of his muscles. 

After the lapse of ages from the time of this general crea- 
tion, Ta-rhun-hia-wah-hun, the Sky-Holder, resolved upon a 
special creation of a race which should surpass all others in 
beauty, bravery, and strength ; so from the bosom of the 
great island Ta-rhun-hia-wah-hun brought out the six 
pairs which were destined to become the greatest of all 
people. 

The Tuscaroras tell us that the first pair was left 
near a great river now called the Moliawk. The second 
family was directed to make its home by the side of a big 
stone ; their descendants have been termed the Oneidas. 
Another pair was left on a high hill and have ever been 
called the Onondagas, and thus each pair was left with care- 
ful instructions in different parts of what is now known as 
the State of New-York, except the Tuscaroras who were 
taken up the Roanoke River into North Carolina where Ta- 
rhun-hia-wah-hun also took up his abode, teaching them 
many useful arts before his departure. This, say they, ac- 
counts for the superiority of the Tuscaroras. But each of 
the six tribes will tell you that his own was the favored one 
with whom Sky-Holder made his terrestrial home, while the 



Myths of the Iroquois. i8i 



Onondagas claim that their possession of the council-fire 
prove them to have been the chosen people. 

Later, as the numerous families became scattered over 
the State, some lived in localities where the bear was the 
principal game, and were called from that circumstance the 
Clan of the Bear ; others where the beaver were trapped, and 
they were called the Beaver Clan ; and for similar reasons the 
Snipe, Deer, Wolf, Tortoise, and Eel clans received their 
appellations. 

One of the Bear Clan relates that once on a time a 
sickly old man, covered with sores, entered an Indian village 
where, over each wigwam, was placed the sign of the clan of 
its possessor, the beaver skin denoting the Beaver, the deer 
skin the Deer Clan, and so forth. At each of these wig- 
v/ams had the old man applied in vain for food and a night's 
lodging, but his repulsive appearance rendered him an object 
of scorn, and the Wolf, the Tortoise, and the Heron had 
bidden the old man to " pass on." At length, tired and 
weary, he arrived at a wigwam where a bear-skin betokened 
the clanship of its owner. This he found inhabited by a 
kind-hearted woman who immediately refreshed him with 
food and spread out skins for his bed. Then she was in- 
structed by the old man to go in search of certain herbs, 
which she prepared according to his directions, and through 
their efficacy he was soon healed. Then he commanded 



1 82 Myths of the Iroquois. 



that she should treasure up this secret. A few days after 
he sickened with a fever, and again commanded a search for 
other herbs, and was agam healed. This being many times 
repeated, he at last told his benefactress that his mission was 
accomplished, and that she was now endowed with all the 
secrets for curing disease in all its forms, and that before 
her wigwam should grow a hemlock tree whose branches 
should above all others reach high into the air, to signify 
that the bear should take precedence of all other clans and 
that she and her clan should increase and multiply. 

Iroquois tradition tells us that the sun and moon ex- 
isted before the creation of the earth, but the stars had all 
been mortals or favored animals and birds. Curious indeed 
are the myths regarding these transformations. 

Seven little Indian boys were once accustomed to bring 
at eve their corn and beans to a little mound, upon the top 
of which, after their feast, the sweetest of their singers would 
sit and sing for his mates who danced around the mound. 
On one occasion they resolved on a more sumptuous feast, 
and each was to contribute toward a savory soup. But the 
parents refused them the needed supplies and they met for a 
feastless dance. Their heads and hearts grew lighter as 
they flew around the mound until, suddenly, the whole com- 
pany v/hirled off into the air. The inconsolable parents 
called in vain for them to return, it was too late ; higher 



Myths of the Iroquois. 183 



and higher they arose, whirling around their singer, until, 
transformed into bright stars, they took their places in the 
firmament where, as the Pleiades, they are dancing still, the 
brightness of the singer, however, having been dimmed on 
account of his desire to return to earth. 

A party of hunters were once in pursuit of a bear when 
they were attacked by a monstrous stone giant, and all but 
three were destroyed. The three, together with the bear, 
were carried by invisible spirits up into the sky, where the 
bear can still be seen pursued by the first hunter with his 
bow, the second with the kettle, and the third, who, further 
behind, is gathering sticks. Only in the fall do the arrows 
of the hunter pierce the bear, when his dripping blood 
tinges the autumn foliage. Then for a time he is invisible, 
but afterwards reappears. 

An old man, despised and rejected by his people, took 
his bundle and staff and went up into a high mountain, 
where he began singing the death-chant. Those below who 
were watching him saw him slowly rising into the air, his 
chant ever growing fainter and fainter, until it finally ceased 
as he took his place in the heavens, where his stooping 
figure, staff and bundle have ever since been visible, and 
are pointed out as Na-ge-tci (the old man). 

An old woman, gifted with the power of divination, was 
unhappy because she could not also foretell when the world 



184 Myths of the Iroquois 



would come to an end. For this she was transported 
to the moon, where to this day she is clearly to be seen 
weaving a forehead strap. Once a month she stirs the 
boiling kettle of hominy before her, during which occupa- 
tion the cat, ever by her side, unravels her net, and so she 
must continue until the end of time — for never until then 
will her work be finished. 

As the pole-star was ever the Indian's guide, so the 
northern lights were ever to him the indication of coming 
events. Were they white, frosty weather would follow ; if 
yellow, disease and pestilence, while red predicted war and 
bloodshed, and a mottled sky in the spring-time was ever 
the harbinger of a good corn season. 

When engaged in wars with different nations the voice 
of the Echo-God served for signals, as it would only respond 
to the calls of the Iroquois. At the edge of evening it was 
used by them to call in those who were out on the war-path. 
When the warrior would whoop the Echo-God would take it 
up and carry it on through the air, the opponents not being 
able to hear it, as this was the special god of the six nations. 
Therefore, when they had gained a great victory, a dance 
was held to give praise to this god. When enemies were 
killed their victors called out as many times as there were 
persons killed, the cry being " Goh-weh ! Goh-weh !" (I'm 
telling you). These words the Echo-God took up and 



Myths of the Iroquois. 185 



repeated. But if one of iheir own tribe was killed, they 
called " Oh-weh ! Oh-weh ! " meaning our own. 

After any of these signals were given, all assembled to- 
gether to hold council and make arrangements for an attack 
or pursuit. Then were sent out runners who also pro- 
claimed ; if no response was made by the Echo-God it 
was an omen that they should not start, but they continued 
calling, and if the god still remained silent a service was 
held to ask the cause of his anger. 

When a warfare was ended victoriously a dance was 
held to the Echo-God, and the nations assembled to rejoice, 
but first to mourn for the dead and decide on the fate of the 
captives. As the Echo-God was never called upon except 
in cases of emergencies during warfare, now, since wars are 
over, the feast and dance to the Echo-God have ceased to be 
a part of the Iro(|uois ceremonies. 

A hunter in the woods was once caught in a thunder 
shower, when he heard a voice calling upon him to follow. 
This he did until he found himself in the clouds, the height 
of many trees from the ground, and surrounded by human 
beings in appearance, with one among them who seemed to 
be their chief. He was told to look below and tell whether 
he could discern a huge sea-serpent. Replying in the nega- 
tive, the old man annointed his eyes, after which he could 
see the monster in the depths below him. They then 



1 86 Myths of the Iroquois. 



ordered one of their number to try and kill this enemy to 
the human race ; upon his failing the hunter was told to 
accomplish the feat ; he accordingly drew his bow and killed 
the foe. He was then conducted to the place where he 
was protecting himself from the storm which had now 
ceased. 

This was man's first acquaintance with the Thunder- 
God and his assistants, and by it he learned that they were 
friendly towards the human race and protected it from 
dragons, sea-serpents and other enemies. 

It was the custom at that season for the medicine-men 
to go about demanding gifts of the people, but an icy figure 
had also appeared demanding a man as a sacrifice ; where- 
upon tlie Thunder-God was appealed to, and he came to the 
rescue with his assistants, and chased the figure far into the 
north, where they doomed the icy demon to remain ; and 
to this day his howling and blustering are still heard, and 
when any venturesome mortal dares to venture too far 
toward his abode his frosty children soon punish the 
offender. He is termed Ka-tash-huaht, or North Wind, and 
ranks as an evil spirit. 

A man, while walking in a forest, saw an unusually 
large bird covered with a heavily clustered coating of wam- 
pum. He immediately informed his people and chiefs, 
whereupon the head chief offered as a prize his beautiful 



Myths of the Iroquois. 187 



daughter to the one who would capture the bird, dead or 
alive, which apparently had come from another world. 

Whereupon the warriors, with bows and arrows, went to 
the " tree of promise," and as each lucky one barely hit the 
bird it would throw off a large quantity of the coveted coat- 
ing, which, like the Lernean hydra's heads, multiplied by 
being cropped. At last, when the warriors were despairing 
of success, a little boy from a neighboring tribe came to 
satisfy his curiosity by seeing the wonderful bird of which 
he had heard ; but, as his people were ever at war with this 
tribe, he was not permitted by the warriors to try his skill at 
archery, and was even threatened with death. But the head- 
chief said, " He is a mere boy, let him shoot on equal terms 
with you who are brave and fearless warriors." His 
decision being final, the boy, with unequalled skill, brought 
the coveted bird to the ground. 

Having received the daughter of the head-chief in mar- 
riage, he divided the oh-ko-ah between his own and the tribe 
into which he had married, and peace was declared between 
them. Then the boy-husband decreed that wampum should 
be the price of peace and blood, which decree was adopted 
by all nations. Hence arose the custom of giving belts of 
wampum to satisfy violated honor, hospitality or any national 
privilege. 

A boat filled with medicine-men passed near a river 



1 88 Myths of the Innjuois. 



bank where a loud voice had proclaimed to all the inhabitants 
to remain indoors, but some, disobeying, died immediately. 
The next day the boat being sought after was found contain- 
ing a strange being at each end, both creatures being fast 
asleep. A loud voice was then heard saying that destroying 
these creatures would result in a great blessing to the In- 
dian. So they were decoyed into a neighboring council-house, 
where they were put to death and burned, and from their 
ashes arose the tobacco plant, that inestimable boon not only 
to the Indian but to his pale-faced brother. 

In the beginning, the birds having been created naked, 
remained hidden, being ashamed of their nakedness. But 
at last they assembled in a great council of all winged crea- 
tures, at which they petitioned the gods to give them some 
kind of covering. They were told that their coverings were 
all ready, but were a long way off, and they must either go or 
send for them. Accordingly, another council was held to 
induce some bird to go in search of the plumage, but each 
bird had some excuse for not going. At last a turkey 
buzzard volunteered to go and bring the feathery uniforms. 
It being a long journey to the place whence he must bring 
them, he (who had been a clean bird heretofore) was obliged 
to eat carrion and filth of all kinds — hence his present 
nature. At length, directed by the gods, he found the 
coverings, and selfishly appropriated to himself the most 



Myths of the Iroquois. 189 



beautifully colored one ; but, finding that he could not fly 
in this, he continued trying them on until he selected his 
present uniform, in which, although it is the least beautiful 
of any, he can so gracefully ride through the air. The good 
turkey buzzard then returned, bearing the feathery garments 
from which each bird chose his present colored suit. 

Three sisters are supposed to preside over the favorite 
vegetables — corn, beans and squashes. They have the 
forms of beautiful females, and are represented as loving 
each other dearly and dwelling in peace and happiness. 
The vines of the vegetables grow upon the same soil and 
cling lovingly around each other. She who is the spirit of 
corn, is supposed to be draped with its long leaves and 
silken tassels. She who guards the bean, has a crown of 
its velvety pods with garments woven of the delicate tendrils, 
while the spirit of squashes is clothed with the brilliant 
blossoms under her care, and in bright nights they can be 
seen flitting about or heard rustling among the tall corn. At 
the yearly festivals held in their honor they are appealed to 
as ''our life, our supporters." 

These are but a few of the very many similar myths 
gathered among the Iroquois during the past season. To 
some they may seem as idle tales, but to many of those, from 
whom I received them, they were realities, for many of 
those forest children of " larger growth " still cling to their 



I go Myths of the Iroquois. 



myths as the only link which binds them to a happier past. 
And shall the pale-face who has not yet rid himself of the 
shackles of superstition in a thousand forms, and who sees 
daily his household gods torn down before him by compara- 
tive mythology and its allied sciences — shall he turn with 
contempt from these strivings of the infant human mind in 
its search after the unknowable ? 

The reply of Tecumseh to General Harrison during the 
treaty of Tippecanoe was no figure of speech. The Gen- 
eral presiding requested the distinguished chief to take a 
seat ; Tecumseh shook his head and refused. Harrison 
repeated his request, saying, "Your father commands you to 
sit there." That instant Tecumseh, stretching forth his hand, 
said, " The sun is my father, the earth my mother ; upon 
her bosom will 1 rest ; " and he dropped upon the ground. 

From the ground had the Indian been brought forth. 
The earth had ever sustained him and when his life was 
over she received him back again. 

It has been with design that I have omitted giving in 
full that interesting myth of the Onondagas, the story of 
Hiawatha, beautiful as it is even in its crudeness. But the 
gold has been extracted from the ore by America's most 
gifted poet, and with its beauties enhanced a thousand-fold, 
it is not meet that the unskilled should encroach within its 
boundaries to mar its perfection. But there could be no 



Myths of the Iroquois. 191 



more fitting conclusion to these myths of the Iroquois than 
to give the farewell words of the legendary founder of that 
confederacy which ever rendered them invincible. 

Before the great council which had adopted his advice 
dispersed, he arose and with a dignified air thus addressed 
them : " Friends and Brothers : I have now fulfilled my mis- 
" sion in this world. I have taught you to make and use 
" wampum, I have taught you arts which you will find use- 
" ful. I have furnished you seed and grains for your gar- 
" dens. I have removed obstructions from your waters, and 
" made the forest habitable by teaching you to destroy its 
'' monsters. I have given you fishing and hunting grounds. 
" I have instructed you in making and using implements of 
" war. I have taught you how to cultivate corn. Lastly, I 
" have taught you to form a confederacy of friendship and 
" union. If you preserve this and admit no foreign element 
" of power by receiving other nations you will always 
" be free, numerous, and happy. If other tribes and nations 
" are admitted to your councils, they will sow the seed of 
" jealousy and discord, and you Avill become few, feeble, 
" and enslaved. 

" Friends and brothers, remember these words. They are 
" the last you will hear from the lips of Hiawatha ! farewell ! " 

As the voice of the wise man ceased, sweet sounds 
from the air burst on the ears of the multitude. The whole 



192 



Myths of the Iroquois. 



sky seemed to be filled with melody, and while all eyes were 
directed to catch a glimpses of the sight and enjoy strains of 
the celestial music that filled the sky, Hiawatha was seen 
seated in his snow-white canoe in mid-air, rising with every 
choral chant that burst forth. As he arose, the sounds be- 
came more soft and faint, till he vanished in the summer 
clouds and the melody ceased : — 

" Thus departed Hi-awa-tha, 
Hi-awa-tha, the beloved. 
In the glory of the sunset. 
In the purple mists of evening ; 
To the regions of the Home-Wind, 
Of the North-west-Wind, Kee-way-din, 
To the Islands of the blessed, 
To the kingdom of Po-ne-mah, 
To the Land of the hereafter." 




INDIAN BROOCH. 




A J AWFUL STORY. 



W. A. CROFFUT. 



[At the autumnal gathering, Mr. Crofifut, just returning from his 
summer jaunt, brought and presented to Mrs. Smith the jaws of a shark 
which he found on the Nantucket Beach. It was understood among the 
fishermen of the island that the shark was caught by the Rev. Robert 
CoUyer, and hauled up by the tail instead of in the orthodox manner. 
The following is the story as told to Mr. Croffut by the shark, as it lay 
on the beach in its dying agonies.] 




FF the beach at old Nantucket — 
That is where I kicked the bucket 
That is where I left the briny 
Surf above the pebbles shiny ; 
That is where my sweetheart sported — 
That is where we erst cavorted 
From Newfoundland to Virginny ; 
But now take me to Erminnie 
A. Smith. 



194 A /awful Story. 



I was gay. No shark was jollier 
Till I met with Robert Collyer. 
He — he did not fish as you fish, 
With a hook and bait of blue-fish, 
But he held a noose above me 
And he took advantage of me. 
Spectre of the elder Pliny ! 
Fly with me to meet Erminnie 
A. Smith. 

I was ready for an angler ; 
Well I knew the hempen dangler. 
But this caudal outrage — oh, me ! 
That a preacher should lasso me ! 
To his small and fragile shallop 
Draw me by my haughty tail up — 
Let me hide my head in Guinea ! 
Take, oh, take me to Erminnie 
A. Smith. 



Seems to me I've seen her somewhere. 
Seems to me she must have come where 
I was. Ah ! 'twas on the ocean 
In a steamer wild with motion. 



A /awful Story. 195 



O'er the guards, as it went lurching, 
Gazed she, as for pins was searching. 
There I saw her ! She was in a 
Meditative mood. Erminnie 
A. Smith. 

Scientific pedants hail us 
Of the Linnaean genus Sqiialus, 
But I found my proper locus 
In the tribe Carcharms glaucus. 
One bone only — so imagine us 
Almost wholly cartilaginous ; 
Surface like a rasp — not skinny ; 
Dentate — take me to Erminnie 
A. Smith. 

Let me slumber in her cabinet. 
I would like a special slab in it. 
Hang me by the owlet dreamy ; 
Let the pterodactyl see me ; 
By the whale-bone lay me down. Then 
Sprinkle chlorine on us now'n then. 
I can hear the sea-horse whinny 
If you take me to Erminnie 
A. Smith. 



196 



A Jawft/l Story. 



Let me, in her choice museum, 
Soundly sleep and sweetly dream ; 
Where the lizard bathes in amber, 
Where the stony lilies clamber, 
Where the polyp rouses never, 
Let me yawn and yawn forever ; 
Leave me there, and all my finny 
Family shall bless Erminnie 
A. Smith. 




LORRAINE. 



CHARLES KIiNGSLEY 



{Recited by Mrs. May Croly Roper ^ 




RE you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lor- 
raine, Lorrie ? 
You're booked to ride your capping race to-day 
at Coulterlee, 
You're booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see, 
To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the 
race for me. 

She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, 

Lorrie. 
'' I can not ride Vindictive, as any man might see. 
And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee ; 
He 's killed a boy, he 's killed a man, and why must he 

kill me ?" 

" Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrie, 

Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee, 

And land him safe across the brook, and win the black 

for me. 
It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no help from me." 



1 98 Lorraine. 



"That husbands would be cruel," said Lorraine, Lorraine, 

Lorrie, 
" That husbands would be cruel, I have known for seasons 

three ; 
But oh ! to ride Vindictive while my baby cries for me, 
And be killed across a fence at last, for all the world to see." 

She mastered young Vindictive — oh ! the gallant lass was 

she ! — 
And she kept him straight, and won the race, as near as near 

could be, 
But he killed her at the brook against a pollard willow tree, 
Oh ! he killed her at the brook — the brute, for all the world 

to see 
And no one but this baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorrie. 




CALUMET OF PEACE. 



LINES TO MRS. SMITH. 



ROBERT K. MUNKITTRICK. 




TUSCARORA Flower, may 
I ask you in a jingling way, 
To send me, in a day or two- 
Or when the spirit moveth you — 
A copy of the programme that 
Delighted all of us last Sat- 
urday. 



I'd like that programme, honored dame- 
I like its tender, sneezing name ; 
I like the Indian who, in fact. 
Shoots head first down the cataract, 
Without his swallow-tail or hat, 
I havn't seen him since last Sat- 
urday. 



Lilies to Mrs. Smith. 



I want to nail it on the wall 
Where unto my mind 'twill oft recall 
Miss Parker and her violin, 
And Croffut's tribute to Ermin- 

Nie S so very funny that 

It made the people scream last Sat- 
urday. 

Tuscarora, tomahawk 

My wishes not ; — O gaily walk 
Around your valued cabinet 
And then I'm pretty sure you'll get 
A copy of the programme that 
Upset us all with joy last Sat- 
urday. 

1 fancy when a view I take 

Of it again, I'll taste your cake, 
Your chicken salad and ice-cream, 
And of some dozen maidens dream. 
Until my heart goes pit-a-pat 
With rapture, as it did last Sat- 
urday. 

Again with perfect joy I'll mark. 
The awful jawbone of the shark, 



Lines to Mrs. Smith. 



Which left the sea to revel in 
The wondrous parlors of Ermin- 

Nie S upon a panel flat, 

Where its ddbut it made last Sat- 
urday. 

In truth that little programme fills 
My mind with dreams of foss-ils 
And corn-husk babies, and forsooth. 
Although I seldom tell the truth, 
I'll say my only wish is that 
We'll oft know such another Sat- 
urday. 




CORN-HUSK DOLLS 



LINES ON THE PRESENTATION OF AN 
INDIAN BROOCH. 



MISS M. C. BEARDSLEY. 




COME, O beautiful flower of the Tuscaroras, I, 
who am only a breast-plate borne before thee, and 
present myself, an ornament with which to deck 
thy bosom. 

I come not from the home of thy brothers, but from 
the far away shore of Gitchee Gumee, the Big Sea Water, 
that great lake whose shores are formed with ore. Both 
copper and silver have their homes by its rugged coast. To 
the latter I belong. A dusky hand and a stalwart arm have 
fashioned me — fashioned me for a mighty chieftain. 

On his breast he safely carried me, 

Carried me into war and conflict, 

Into forest, moor and fen-land, 

Into councils of the warriors. 

Into wigwams of the maidens, 

Into quarries of the red stone 

Frorh which the pipes called " peace " are moulded. 



Lines on the Presentation of an Indian Brooch. 20^ 



When the evening dews were falling, 
And the sun to sleep had gone, 
On the hill-side by the camp-fires 
Which the warriors sat around — 
There the smoke has curled about me 
And I've listened rapt and long, 
To the legends of the Red-men — 
Of the beasts, the birds and reptiles, 
Of the trees, the winds and stars, 
Listened with delight and patience, 
To the tales by each one told, 
Of the truth and of the valor, 
Of the justice and the judgment. 
Of the strength and of the sweetness 
Of the brave whom all adored. 

So my days they travelled onward. 
Till a pale-face came among us. 
Came with others of his kind, 
To the village where my master 
Was the chief one of his tribe. 
For some kindness of the white man's 
I was given, to proye the fact. 
That the Indian, though revengeful, 
Ne'er forgets a kindly act. 



204 Lines on the Presentation of an Indian Brooch. 



Then I journey'd to the eastward, 
Journey'd on for days and days, 
To the home of my new owner, 
'Mid the gay world's busy maze. 



Five and thirty years I dwelt there, 
Dwelt there till the time seemed lon^ 
Since I'd seen or heard an Indian, 
Or a remnant of his song. 



None have won me but the chieftain, 

But to thee, to thee I come 

Knowing that I now will cover 

All the graces and the learning, 

All the strength and sweetness blended, 

Of a woman and a brave man. 

Of a daughter and a princess 

Of the haughty Indian tribe. 

Thou, to whom the task is given, 
From oblivion's waters deep 
To preserve and keep the legends, 
When the Red-man 's gone to sleep 



Lhies on the Presentation of an Indian Brooch. 205 



Keep me as a relic, dear one, 
Relic of a race gone by — 
Relic of a mighty chieftain, 
Relic of a tribe most high. 



f^i^^ s>.. 

a :: ^ ^ i; Hm 



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c:\ 



THE PRESENTATION BROOCH. 



SCIENCE AND RELIGION.'' 



CHARLES T. CONGDON. 




ALF the differences of the world are the result of a 
confusion of ideas, and an inadequate compre- 
hension of the relative value of indisputable 
conclusions. In the controversies also, which belief and 
dissent occasion, the most noise is usually made about that 
which is of the least consequence. If we begin our consid- 
eration of divine things by a resort to philological research, 
to matters of letter or text, to that rcdi/ctio ad absiirdum^ of 
which small free-thinkers and skeptics are fond, it may be 
assumed that the man of faith will always be out-talked by 
the man of facts. Such were the trifling methods of the last 
century, even in the hands of remarkable men — of Paine, 
and others of his school — and they have been occasionally 
adopted by several of those who call themselves rationalists 
and liberalists at the present time. We had best begin by 
dismissing these and their uncritical notions. Because I 
cannot see that it is of the least importance whether the 



* Abstract of a paper read before the Society by the autlior. 



Science and Religion. 207 



creation of the world occupied the Creator six days, or sixty, 
or six thousand — the main fact being the creation, and not 
the processes by which the divine worker saw fit to accom- 
plish his self-imposed task. Again, there is nothing about 
which scientific and philosophical writers have so carped 
and quibbled and split hairs, as the miracles. But neither 
their assailers nor their defenders seem to have had the least 
idea of their comparative unimportance. I should not have 
a very high opinion of that christian belief which depended 
upon their evidence, however valuable I might regard them 
to be, considered in other connections. Once more, I do not 
see of v/hat consequence it is whether the four canonical 
gospels were written by those apostles after whose names 
they are called — whether they were produced soon after the 
crucifixion, or not until the second century was lapsing 
into the third. Certainly that which is in them, Avhich 
informs and inspires them, which makes them seem to the 
majority of enlightened mankind, the divinest and most 
precious things ever written and printed, does not in the least 
depend upon their authorship, still less upon their date. 
So again, the real Christ is he who has kept his fast hold 
upon the human heart, the utterer of words of ineffable 
love and wisdom, and not the Christ who turned water into 
wine, and who rose again upon the third day. If the mira- 
cle was necessary for the convincement of the Jews, surely 



2o8 Science and Religion. 



it is not necessary for us. The Sermon on the Mount would 
have remained the perfect essence of religion and morality, 
even though he who preached it had never risen on the 
third day, for it is in itself greater than any miracle. Faith 
in a future happiness does not rest upon the ascension — 
fear of a future of retribution does not depend upon the 
descent into hell. I make these allusions to show that all 
that is best of Christianity, and most precious in its teach- 
ings, has no material or scientific dependence. So far as 
historical Christianity is concerned, and so far as it is linked 
to the Jewish dispensation, I suppose that there will always 
be honest differences about details and dates. So there 
will always be exegetical criticism of the Scriptures. So, 
too, you will easily see that the truth or error of any doc- 
trine is not in the least affected by its acceptance or rejec- 
tion. The eternal veracities remain, though all the world 
should hoot at them. I think it necessary to make this 
observation, because men are prone to think less of this or 
that truth if it happens to be rejected by some accepted 
authority, and to take their opinions complacently at second- 
hand from the idol of the hour. The perpetual mistake is 
that something must be false, because somebody thinks it to 
be so. Small thinkers, or those who are thoughtless alto- 
gether, though they do not in the least comprehend the 
processes, chuckle at the results, and the most venerable 



Science and Religion. 209 



belief is, in their shallow minds, made ridiculous, though 
nothing heavier has been launched against it than a clever 
epigram. It would be silly if it concerned any ordinary 
matter — as to those of inexpressible moment, it is repulsive 
— small talk about a great matter. Cicero's estimate of 
such fault-finders has passed into a proverb ; these are the 
captatores verbontin — the word-snatchers. I have before me 
at this moment a great book, full of the most various learn- 
ing — -seven hundred pages in all — the whole purpose of 
which is to prove that the Apostles did not write the gos- 
pels which are called by their names. What do I care ? Are 
they any the less gospels ? 

I cannot comprehend any theology without a god. 
Nor can I comprehend any mythology without a supreme 
god, much less any religion or satisfactory scheme with 
gods whose power is balanced and generally kept in work- 
ing order by negotiation and treaties. The Greek and 
Roman mythologies, and I suppose the Indian, of which I 
do not know much, with their many almost pathetic Teach- 
ings after the infinite, lose themselves in a maze of objective 
e.xperiences, and are little better, with all their beauties, than 
the projections of human and mortal activities. Their pan- 
theon goes up from earth to heaven — we want a deity which 
shall come down from heaven to earth, which shall be an 
inspiration, or, at any rate, our best human resource, when 



Science and Relisrion. 



revelation fails or is thought to fail. For revelation is, after 
all, but a concession to human infirmity. Of course, there 
is in it help, strength, confirmation ; but I am surprised 
that so much stress should be laid upon it as evidence. For 
revelation puts us to a double task, when faith should be 
single and uninterrupted ; it first makes its claim upon us 
through intuitive reception, and then compels us to hold 
fast to it throu5h historical examination. Yes, I think that 
revelation is secondary, and likely to prove wanting when it 
is alone relied on. It is the cause of much circuitous reason- 
ing. Necessarily it is a matter of chronology, of tradi- 
tion, of guesses and glosses, hampered by the inevitable 
accidents of transmission, and by the chances of merely 
mechanical phrases. I do not understand why any religion 
should be dependent for its grateful reception by mankind 
upon the labors of philologists, upon the loss of this manu- 
script or the discovery of the other. I do not see why it 
should be accepted by one who knows nothing of the micro- 
scope, or rejected by another because he has been peeping 
at a hundred plants or fossils through the lenses. All this 
seems to me to belittle the controversy. Even with my 
views of special revelation, I should be quite willing to set 
the Bible against the thickest of herbariums. I do not pro- 
pose to give up anything because a few bones have been 
dug up in Oregon or Asia Minor, or because a microscopist 



Science and Religion. 



has discovered that some else not invisible little creature 
with a long name, has five claws instead of fifty, and v/rig- 
gles oftener to the right than to the left. 

The human instinct is a potency which beggars human 
demonstration. It has not, of course, without His divine 
assistance, evolved a God. We need not mind the processes 
while the fact remains. As I write I seem to be in an 
awful presence. I hear the thunders of Sinai as I am en- 
shrouded by the darkness which " was over all the land until 
the ninth hour." I bow my head in reverence because He 
is so great — I whisper words of gratitude because He is so 
good. I do not find Him in any printed book ; I do not 
care for His recognition by any pulpit ; I do not ask for His 
acceptance by scientific schools. From the very fact of 
His existence which I do not question, I deduce His attri- 
butes. From the certainty that He is. He must be as He is. 
I am so sure that there can be neither be religious certainty 
nor religious satisfaction without a logical comprehension 
of His attributes, that I begin by establishing them me- 
thodically in my own mind. I deduce from my first idea, 
omnipotence and omniscience, a being without beginning or 
end, and that love which must always accompany a perfect 
freedom from self-seeking motives. The first idea of a God 
is a being from whom mere human passions must be elimi- 
nated — of one working with absolute independence of human 



Science and Religion. 



laws. The modern philosopher approaches His dread pres- 
ence with a geological hammer in one hand and a micro- 
scope in the other, and demonstrates that he must have done 
so or thus, because He could not have done otherwise, or 
He is no God. Moreover, I cast far from me that other 
notion — the mere spawn of Arch Deacon Paley's round- 
about speculations — that God must exist because I can see 
and hear and feel — that celebrated demonstration from the 
watch which is about the most absurd thing which ever mas- 
queraded in the garb of philosophy. I do not know that 
there is a God, because I have two eyes, two ears and a 
digestive apparatus. If He had pleased to make me with 
one eye, no ears and no stomach. His would have been still 
a complete and perfect work. It is because I believe 
this, that I believe in Him at all. I must accept Him 
altogether or I must reject Him altogether. If He is 
no more than a mere mechanic or Justice of the Peace, 
He might just as w^ell not be, for all He is to me in my 
mortal emergency. It is necessary to remember this, 
because so many of our theosophic speculations are really 
anthropomorphic. Sometimes, in the old galleries of Europe, 
you see a picture of God. He is represented as a bearded 
old man, brooding over chaos — He who knows no time and 
is utterly inconsistent with any finite idea of space. We 
might as well go back to the Grecian notions of Jupiter 



Science and Relis:ion. 



213 



Olympus, as thus shape our faith by the idea of such a 
deity. 

All the gods of all the mythologies agree superficially 
upon creative points ; but the difference between a true 
God and these shadows, which line the walls of pan- 
theons, is in their absurd division of one universal potency 
into numberless specific potencies, so that we have a god of 
wine, of love, of this human activity or that mortal desire. 
You think that you have reached in the Jews the highest 
attribute of theism, but you find an infinity of creative 
power above him — he is only an accident or one article in 
the divine genealogy. The Grecian and Roman mytholo- 
gies make theism cheap and fabulous, by squandering power 
and frittering away after a human fashion, their supernatu- 
ralism, instead of consistently concentrating it upon one 
absolute infinite being existing by the sole necessity of His 
own nature — a Free Cause of all things, without whom noth- 
ing could be, or, as Spinoza says, " could conceived to be " — 
from whom all things have followed out of the necessity of 
the supreme perfect nature. The reasonable deduction 
from these conditions, is unity, with the attributes of Omni- 
potence and Omniscience. The secondary attributes of 
God, His love and His justice, are derived from these, since 
the supreme character can desire only supreme things, such 
as harmony, order, happiness and right. 



2 14 Science and ReIis;ion. 



What we must specially bear in mind is personality 
absolutely limited by unity — not an idea, not a vague and 
undefined influence, not an abstract existence, not the soul 
of the world diffused through all things, which was the doc- 
trine of the stoics — but a living incorruptible being, of per- 
fect felicity, and susceptible of no evil. Now if such a be- 
ing exists as this, he must have existed always and so before 
the creation of the world. If he be omnipotent — and the 
moment you limit his potency you abolish him altogether — 
then no matter by what processes this world was created, or 
in what way we who inhabit it were made ! I do not see 
what we have to do with his processes. He must still have 
been a great moving cause though there had been no terres- 
trial creation. If science can prove, as I dare say it can, 
that the business of creation must have occupied a much 
greater period of time than six days, it does not appear to 
me to have proved anything of importance. The strength 
of the story of Genesis remains, whether it be myth or 
literal history. The fact of human existence is not affected 
by the question of one original pair or many. So, too, of 
the Fall, assuming that there is really sin, there must have 
been a moment when man had not sinned, and was so far a 
being of absolute purity. Now, the whole tendency of 
modern thought, of the kind called liberal, and of critical 
discussions of that kind called scientific, it is to limit om- 



Science and Religion. 215 



nipotence, leaving us to the fortuitous working of natural 
causes, and setting up a god, if any god be thought neces- 
sary, as unsubstantial and evanescent as the exhalations of 
the morning ; this to one mind and that to another— not a 
being but a dream, and I may almost say a miscellaneous 
vagary. The moment this career of self sufficient specula- 
tion is entered upon, theology becomes of private and per- 
sonal arrangement, and every man has a god for himself, 
or no god at all, if he does not particularly desire one. Of 
his personal and private deity, the possessor may say, " I 
know that he would not do this ; I am sure that he would 
not do that." Most people write now of the Deity as if He 
were all compact of benevolence, but without the corres- 
ponding idea of justice, as if these could be logically sepa- 
rated — as if all-goodness must not be all-just, or all-justice all- 
good. It is strange that this should have come partly through 
a better knowledge of His wonderful works, as if, because 
we see how the great hand moved, we should the less rever- 
ence and adore it. We compare the illimitable with the 
limited. We make shipwreck upon the rocks of literal in- 
terpretation. We judge by finite sense the infinite. . We set 
up a critical notion of our own, found in our laboratories or 
geological cabinets, and use these very materials which ought 
to assist us to a higher idea of Him, to demonstrate Him 
out of existence altogether. 



2i6 Science and Religion. 



It is to the blind and wayward error of arguing of 
the infinite from the finite, of the eternal from the ma- 
terial, of the spiritual from the material, that much of 
the loose thinking and writing of the present day is 
to be attributed. There is a passion for saying smart 
things on serious topics. This teacher is remarkable for 
sarcasm, the other for a shallow but taking criticism of the 
letter, a third for glittering generalities about love and duty 
and progress. The result is great confusion, no little uncer- 
tainty, and an immense show of announcing our non-beliefs. 
The great labor of to-day is to reject. It is thought to be 
honorable not to be able definitely to make up one's mind. 
But the all-knowing must be wiser than finite thinker or 
student or investigator of the laws of nature. The all-potent 
must be stronger than any human power ; and if in Him 
we live and move and have our being, vv'e may be sure that 
He too lives and moves and has his being also. 




LINES ON A BOQUET. 



MRS. MARY DANA SHINDLER. 

(Read by ike Author.) 




DO thank thee, lovely lady, 

For these bright and fragrant flowers ; 
Oh, how sweetly such mementoes 
Lend their charm to lonely hours ! 



Here are lovely pinks and roses, 

Free from blight, and free from stain ; 

Time will mar their brilliant beauty, 
But their fragrance will remain. 

So, when time shall part us, lady. 
Though I view thv charms no more. 

Think not mem'ry will forsake me. 
Nor thy smiles to me restore. 

Now, my youth's bright flowers have faded, 
All their petals pale and dead — 

Now, my spring has changed to winter. 
Its hoar-frosts upon my head. 



2l8 



Lhies on a Bouquet. 



But like evergreens shall flourish 
All my memories of thee ; 

And like roses, freshly, blooming, 
Shallthese hours return to me. 

Love me, lady, gentle lady. 

Southern stranger though I be ; 

'Twill be sweet to think hereafter, 
I was once beloved by thee. 




INDIAN BROOCH. 



BLOWN AWAY. 



CHARLES BARNARD. 




HERE were three of them, — Kitty, Mary and little 
Tommy, — the children of the station-master at 
Black River Junction, on the Great South-western 
Railroad. The station stood alone on the open prairie, miles 
and miles from anywhere in particular. Black River flowed 
through the mountains, a hundred miles away to the north ; 
and on clear days, the snowy mountains could be seen glim- 
mering on the grassy horizon. The line leading to the Black 
River met the South-western here, and thus it was the place 
was called Black River Junction. 

The station-master and his wife and three children lived 
in the little depot quite happily, but there was not another 
family within ten miles, in any direction. 

At times the children thought it rather lonely. There 
was nothing in particular to be done, except to watch the 
trains that stopped at the junction several times a day. Once 
in a while, a freight-car would be left on the side track, and 



* This story was related by the author at a meeting of the Society, 
and afterwards published in Saint Nicholas. 



Blown Away. 



the children soon found that an empty freight-car makes a 
capital playhouse. They could keep house in the corners 
and make visits, or sit by the open door and make believe 
they were having a ride. 

One morning, they were wakened by a curious humming 
sound out-of-doors, and they all scrambled up and looked 
out of the window. How the wind did blow ! It whistled 
and roared round the house and played on the telegraph 
wires upon the roof as upon a huge harp. As the wires were 
fastened to the roof, the house became a great music-box, 
with the children inside. After breakfast the morning trains 
arrived, but the wind was so high that the passengers were 
glad to hurry from one train to another as quickly as possi- 
ble. Then the trains went away, and the great wind-harp 
on the roof sang louder than ever. 

The station-master said it blew a gale, and that the 
children must stay in the house, lest they be blown away 
into the prairie and be lost. The station-master's wife said 
it was a pity the children must stay in the house all day. 
There was an empty freight-car on the side track ; perhaps 
they might play in that. The station-master thought this a 
good idea, and took Kitty by the hand and Tommy in his 
arms, while Mary took hold of his coat, and they all went 
out to the empty car. Whew ! How it did blow ! They cer- 
tainly thought they would be lifted up by the wind and blown 



Blown Away. 



quite into the sky. The empty car was warm and snug, and, 
once inside, they were quite out of the way of the wind. 

Mary thought the rear end would be a good place to 
keep house, but Tommy preferred the other end, so they 
agreed to keep house at both ends of the empty car. This 
was a nice plan, for it gave them a chance to visit each 
other, and the open part by the door made a grand prome- 
nade to walk on. 

Louder and louder roared the gale. Safe and snug in 
the car, they went on with their play and thought nothing 
of the weather outside. 

Suddenly the car seemed to shake, and they stopped 
in their housekeeping and ran to the door to see what had 
happened. 

" Why, it's moving ! Somebody's pushing it," said Mary. 

" They are taking us away on the freight train. Come, 
we must get out." 

" I didn't hear the whistle," said Tommy. " I guess 
something is pushing the car." 

The girls leaned out of the door to see what had hap- 
pened. Why, where was the platform ? What was the mat- 
ter with the station ? It was moving away. No, it was the 
car. It had left the siding and rolled out upon the main 
line and was moving faster and faster along the road. 

" Oh, we must get out ! They are taking us away." 



Blown Away. 



"No, no," said Kitty. "We must stay here till the 
brakeman comes round. I didn't hear them when they 
took us on the train." 

" There isn't any train," said Tommy, looking up and 
down the line. 

" Oh, it's the wind ! It's blowing the car away. We 
must put on the brakes and stop it." 

This was a good plan, but how were they to carry it 
out ? The brake-wheel was on top of the car, and they 
were inside. Faster and faster rolled the car. It began to 
rattle and roar as if dragged along by a swift engine. In a 
moment Tommy began to cry. Mary tried to look brave, 
and Kitty stared hard at the level prairie flying past. It was 
of no use. They all broke down together and had a hearty 
cry alone in the empty car as it rolled on before the gale. 

The station-master's wife rolled up her sleeves to put 
the house in order while the children were safely out of the 
way. The station-master, feeling sure the children were 
safe in the freight-car, sat in his office nearly all the morning. 
At last, the beds were made, the dinner put on the fire, and 
the mother wondered how the girls were getting on in their 
playhouse on the track. She threw a shawl over her head 
and went out upon the platform. At once the wind blew 
the shawl over her face, and she could not see exactly where 
she stood. Turning her back to the wind she began to call 



Blown Away. 223 

the children. How loudly the wind roared through the 
telegraph wires ! Perhaps, they could not hear in all this 
din. May be, they were inside the car, out of hearing. 
She walked on toward the siding. Not a thing to be seen ! 
She wondered if there had not been a mistake ? Perhaps, 
the car was on the other side track ? No, the rails were 
unoccupied as far as she could see in every direction. What 
did it mean ? What had happened ? She staggered back 
into the station and startled her husband with a cry of 
despair. 

" The car ! The children ! " 

The station-master ran out upon the platform and 
looked up and down the line. Not a car in sight ! It had 
been blown away before the terrible wind, and was perhaps, 
at this instant rolling swiftly onward with its precious load 
to destruction. What would happen to it ? Would it meet 
a train or run into a station ? Would the children try to 
get out, or would they stay in the car till it was wrecked ? 

He sprang to the door of the depot to telegraph the 
terrible news down the line, but just as he opened the door 
he saw a faint white cloud on the western horizon. It was 
a train. Help was coming. At the same instant, his wife 
appeared with new grief and terror in her eyes, 

" I cannot get a call in either direction. The wires are 
blown down." 



2 24 Blown Away. 



This only added to the danger, for there was now no 
means of sending word in advance of the runaway car. It 
must go on to its fate without help or warning. 

" Help is coming, mother. Here's a train bound 
east." 

Nearer and nearer came the train, and the father and 
mother stood watching it as it crept along the rails. It 
seemed as if it would never come. At last, it reached the 
platform and proved to be a passenger train bound up the 
Black River Road and not intended to go in the direction 
in which the car had been blov/n away. The instant it 
stopped, the station-master ran to the engineer and told his 
terrible story. The mother, with quicker wit, found the 
conductor and demanded that the engine be taken off and 
sent after the children. 

The conductor was a man of regular habits and such a 
bold request struck him as something extraordinary. Take 
the engine off and leave the train and passengers v/aiting at 
this lonely station ? The idea was preposterous ! Some of 
the passengers gathered near and asked what was the matter. 

" Three children lost, blown away in an empty car." 
Some one said, " Yes, go at once. We can wait here till the 
engine returns." The conductor said he must telegraph for 
instructions ; but some one said, " The wires are down," 
and the people only cried out the more, " Let the engine 



Blflivn Away. 225 



go ! " so the mother ran to the tender and began to pull out 
the pin, that the engine might start. 

" Hold on, marm," said a brakeman. " I'll cast her off. 
You jump aboard, if you want to go too. Fire up, Jack, 
and make her hum." 

It was all done in a moment, and away flew the engine, 
leaving the conductor and the station-master staring in sur- 
prise at this singular proceeding. The station-master did 
not feel very happy. ?Ie had half intended to go with the 
engine, but it would never do to leave his post. 

" Fire steady, Jack, said the engineer to the fireman. 
" It's no use to get excited, for we're in for a long race." 

" It's enough to make a fellow excited to see that 
woman," said the fireman. 

The engineer turned round, and there, by his side, stood 
the mother, her eyes straining ahead down the line in search 
of the missing ones. 

" Oh, sir ! open the throttle wide. Don't try to save 
coal at such a time as this." 

" We must keep cool, marm, and go steady, or we shall 
run out of coal and water and come to a stand-still on the 
line. 

The woman said not a word, but nodded mournfully and 
leaned against the side of the cab for support, and then the 
fireman gave her his seat, where she could look out ahead 



2 26 Bloii'ii Away. 



over the line. How the engine shook and roared ! The little 
finger of the steam-gauge trembled and rose higher and higher 
as the steam pressure increased over the raging fire. The 
engine seemed to be eating up the track in front, and be- 
hind, the rails spun out like shining ribbons in the sun. 
The station and train had already sunk down out of sight, 
and the grassy horizon on either side seemed to fly away in 
a kind of gigantic waltz. The wind died away to a dead 
calm, and in a few moments a little breeze sprang up and 
blew in at the front windows. 

" We are beating the wind," said the engineer. " If we 
can keep up this pace we shall soon overtake them." 

" How long have they been gone ? " shouted the fire- 
man above the roar of the engine. 

" I don't know," screamed the woman, without taking 
her eyes from the horizon, where the rails met the sky. " It 
may have been two hours or more. They were playing 
in the empty car." 

" How did she get out of the siding ?" (He meant the 
the car.) 

"It's one of the switches," said the engineer. "Cars 
can easily jump out upon the main line." 

Ah ! something ahead. Was it the runaway car ? No, 
the next station. What a terrible pace ! Twenty miles 
already ! 



Blown Aivay. 227 



" Oh, don't stop ! " cried the woman, as she saw the 
engineer put his hand on the throttle-valve. 

" I must, marm. We are getting out of water, and per- 
haps we can learn something of the runaway." 

The sudden arrival of a solitary engine, containing two 
men and one woman, startled the station-master, and he 
came out to see what it meant. He seemed to guess at the 
truth, for he said : 

" After the runaway car ? " 

" Yes, yes. There were three children inside." 

" Oh, marm, I'm sorry for ye. It went past here, going 
twenty miles an hour. It came down-grade all- the way, but 
the up-grade begins about two miles out. I was inside when 
it passed, and didn't see it till it had gone past the door." 

How long it took to fill the tender ! The engine stood 
hot and smoking by the water-tank, and the water came out 
in a slender stream, while the poor mother stood looking on, 
tearful and impatient. 

" Good-bye ! I'll put up the pipe. — Heaven help ye ! — 
the up-grade " 

The rest was lost, for the engine shot ahead on and on 
out over the open prairie. The water-tank seemed to sink 
down into the earth, and the shining rails stretched longer 
and longer out behind. 

Ah ! What was that ? A cloud of steam on the horizon, 



228 Blown Away. 



far ahead. The engineer took out his time-book and studied 
it carefully. 

"Freight No. 6, bound west, stopping on the two-mile 
siding." 

How swiftly Freight No. 6 rose above the grass and 
grew big along the way ! Listen ! A whistle. The engi- 
neer whistled in reply and shut off steam. Their engine 
quickly slowed down, and they could see men leaning out 
from the other engine, as if to speak to them. 

" It's ten minutes back. Running slow on main-line, 
— road — clear " 

" Thank Heaven ! " said the woman. The engineer 
said nothing ; but at that instant the engine gave a leap and 
shot ahead, at the rate of fifty miles an hour, up the easy 
grade. How long the minutes seemed, and yet each meant 
almost a mile ! 

Ah ! A speck, — a black dot on the horizon ! The 
car ? Yes. It was the car. It grew bigger and bigger. 
Now they could see it plainly. But the children ! Where 
were they ? The fireman sprang out through the forward 
window and ran along the engine and down upon the cow- 
catcher. The monster began to slacken its terrible pace, and 
in a moment it struck the car with a gentle jar and stopped. 

The fireman thought himself a lively man, but the 
woman was before him and sprang up into the car. 



Blown Away. 



229 



Th'ere they lay, safe and sound, in the corner of the car, 
— Mary and Tommy fast asleep, and Kitty watching over 
them. 

" O ! mother ! I knew you would come. Mary and 
Tommy cried themselves to sleep, and I — I." 

Nobody could say a word. The fireman tried to rub 
his eyes, and only marked his face with black streaks. The 
mother laughed and cried all at once. The engineer picked 
up the little ones and quietly took them into the cab of the 
engine. 

" There, now, my hearties, you have had a risky ride ; 
but it's all right. Come ! We're more than thirty miles 
from home, and it won't do to be late to dinner. Fire up, 
Jack." 

" Aye, aye, sir," said Jack. 




PUNCHINELLO. 



K. E. VVETHERBY. 

iSnng^ by Miss Agnes Lazar.) 




E was a punchinello, 

Sweet Columbine was she, 
He loved the ground she danc'd on, 
She laugh'd his love to see ; 
'Till he laugh'd himself as gaily, 
Dancing, joking ev'ry night : 
" He's the maddest, merriest fellow ! " 
Cried the people with delight. 
" Bravo ! Bravo ! Bravo ! 
Bravo ! Punchinello ! " 

Bright was the day she married, 

And there, among the rest, 

Came poor old Punchinello, 

He was the blithest guest. 

Had they seen his tears at midnight 

In his garret near the sky, 

" He's the maddest, quaintest fellow ! " 

That still would have been the cry. 

" Bravo ! Bravo ! Bravo ! 

Bravo ! Punchinello ! " 



PuncJiiriello. 231 



One winter morn they told him 

Sweet Columbine was dead. 

He never jok'd so gaily 

As that night, the people said, 

Never sang and laugh'd so madly. 

Ah ! for his heart that night ! 

" He's the wildest, brightest fellow," 

Cried the people with delight. 

" Bravo ! Bravo ! Bravo ! 

Bravo ! Punchinello ! " 

But, when the play was over. 
Forth to her grave he crept. 
Laid one white rose upon it, 
Then sat him down and wept. 
But the people, had they seen him 
Gaze to the moonlit sky, 
" He's the merriest, maddest fellow," 
Still you would have heard them cry 
" Bravo ! Bravo ! Bravo ! 
Bravo ! Punchinello ! " 



A FRAGMENT FROM ''LA DAME AUX 
CAMEL/AS." 



T. B. ALDRICH. 

(Recited hy Orlena A . Einerson^ 




HE great green curtain fell on all, 
On laugh, and wine, and woe, 
Just as death some day will fall 

'Twixt us and life I know ! 

The play was done — the bitter play — 

And the people turned to go. 

And did they see the tragedy ? 
They saw the painted scene ; 
They saw Armand, the jealous fool, 
And the sick Parisian Queen ; 
But they did not see the tragedy — 
The one I saw, I mean ! 

They did not see that cold-cut face — 

That furtive look of care : 

Or, seeing her jewels, only said, 

"The lady's rich and fair." 

But I tell you, 'twas the play of life, 

And that woman played despair ! 



-Sf- 



BEDOUIN LOVE-SONG. 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 

(Sung by Mr. T. Bullock.) 




ROM the desert I come to thee 
On my Arab, shod with fire, 
And the winds are left behind 
In the speed of my desire. 
Under thy window I stand, 

And the midnight hears my cry — 
" I love thee ! I love but thee ! " 
With a love that shall not die, 
Till the sun grows cold, and the stars are old, 
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold ! 

From thy window look and see 

My passion and my pain ! 
I lie on the sand below. 

And I faint in thy disdain. 
Let the night-winds touch thy brow 

With the breath of my burning sigh. 
And melt thee to hear the vow 

Of a love that shall not die 
Till the sun grows cold, and the stars are old, 
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold ! 




THE PETRIFIED FERN. 

MERY L. BOLLES BRANCH. 

(Read by the A uthor.) 

N a valley, centuries ago, 

Grew a little fern-leaf green and slender, 
Veining delicate and fibres tender, 
Waving when the wind crept down so low. 

Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it ; 
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it ; 
Drops of dew stole down by night and crowned it ; 
But no foot of man e'er came that way ; — 
Earth was young and keeping holiday. 

Monster fishes swam the silent main ; 

Stately forests waved their giant branches ; 

Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches ; 
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain. 

Nature revelled in grand mysteries ; 

But the little fern was not like these. 

Did not number with the hills and trees, 
Only grew and waved its sweet, wild way ; 
No one came to note it day by day. 

Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood. 

Heaved the rocks, and changed the mighty motion 
Of the strong, dread currents of the ocean ; 

Moved the hills, and shook the haughty wood ; 



The Petrified Fern. 



235 



Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay, 

Covered it, and hid it safe away. 

O, the long, long centuries since the day I 
O, the changes ! O, life's bitter cost. 
Since the little useless fern was lost ! 

Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man, 
Searching Nature's secrets far and deep ; 
From a fissure in a rocky steep 

He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran 
Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, — 
Leafage, veining, fibres, clear and fine — 
And the fern's life lay in every line. 

So, I think, God hides some souls away, 

Sweetly to surprise us the last day. 





SHE IS DEAD. 

ANONYMOUS. 

(Read bv Col. Charles Fuller.) 

HE is dead ! " they said to him. " Come away ; 
Kiss her and leave her — thy love is clay ! " 
They smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair, 
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair ; 
Over the eyes„which gazed too much 
They drew the lids with a gentle touch ; 
With a tender touch they closed up well 
The sweet, thin lips that had secrets to tell ; 
About her brown and beautiful face 
They tied her veil and her marriage-lace, 
And drew on her white feet the white, silk shoes — 
Which were the whitest, no eye could chose ! 
And over her bosom they crossed her hands — 
" Come away," they said, " God understands ! " 
And there was silence, and nothing there 
But silence, and scents of eglantere. 
And jasmine and roses and rosemary, 
And they said, " As a lady should lie, lies she." 



She is Dead. 



237 



And they held their breath as they left the room 
With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom. 

But he who loved her too well to dread 

The sweet, the stately and beautiful dead — 

He lit his lamp and took his key 

And turned it. Alone again — he and she. 

He and she ; yet she would not smile, 

Though he called her the name she loved erewhile. 

He and she ; still she did not move 

To any passionate whisper of love. 

Then he said, "Cold lips, and breast without breath, 

Is there no voice ? no language of death 1 

Dumb to the ear and still to the sense. 

But to heart and soul distinct, intense ? 

See now ; I will listen with soul, not ear ; 

What was the secret of dying, dear ? 

Was it the infinite wonder of all 

That you ever could let life's flower fall ? 

Or was it the greater marvel to feel 

The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? 

Was the miracle greater to find how deep 

Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep ? 

Did life roll back its record, dear ? 

And show, as they say it does, past things clear ? 



238 She is Dead. 



And was it the innermost heart of the bliss 
To find out so what a wisdom love is ? 

perfect dead ! O dead most dear ! 

1 hold the breath of my soul to hear ! 
I listen as deep as to horrible hell, 

As high as to heaven, and you do not tell ! 
There must be pleasure in dying, sweet, 
To make you so placid from head to feet. 
I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, 
And 'twere your hot tears on my brow shed — 
I would say, though the angel of death had laid 
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. 
You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, 
Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise ; 
The very strangest and suddenest thing 
Of all surprises dying must bring." 

Ah, foolish world ! O most kind dead ! 

Though he told me, who will believe it was said ? 

Who will believe what he heard her say. 

With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way ? 

" The utmost wonder is this : I hear 

And see you and love you and kiss you, dear ; 

And am your angel, who was your bride, 

And know that, though dead, I have never died." 

5} 



ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP. 



EMMA VVILLARD. 



(Sling- ty Miss Clara Stutsman.') 




OCKED in the cradle of the deep, 
I lay me down in peace to sleep ; 
Secure I rest upon the wave, 
For thou, O Lord ! hast power to save. 
I know thou wilt not slight my call. 
For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall ! 
And calm and peaceful is my sleeep, 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 

And such the trust that still were mine. 
Though stormy waves swept o'er the brine, 
Or though the tempest's fiery breath 
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death ! 
In ocean cave still safe with thee, 
The germ of immortality ; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 



^- 



i5®b 



A STORY IN VERSE. 

ALMA CALDER JOHNSTON. 

{Read by the A u(/ior.) 




STORY, my darlings? 
I'll tell you two : — 

" There was an old woman who lived in a shoe," — 
Ah ! that is too stale ? you w^ant something new ? 
Well, here is another I know to be true. 

One stormy morning, some years ago, 
When the city was covered with ice and snow, 
And the rich and poor, the high and low 
Went slipping and stumbling to and fro, 
1 was looking out on the crowded street 
From my easy-chair by the fireside's heat ; 
The wind's sad wail and the pelting sleet 
But made my coziness more complete. 
Canary's warble, a flower's perfume. 
Brought happy dreams of days in June, 
And, all forgetful of wintry gloom. 
Visions of summer-time filled the room. 



A Story in Verse. 241 



Unheeding the storm of wind and rain, 
I was joyously building a castle in Spain, 
AVith a highway to it, broad and plain, 
When, tap-tap, came a rap on my window-pane. 

My castle instantly vanished away ; 
My thoughts came back to the wintry day, 
And the world outside my firelight's ray. 
Centering, at last, on the garments gray 
Of a dark-eyed girl, some twelve years old — 
With earnest face, firm, sweet, yet bold, 
And hairs of sunniest threads of gold, 
Beside my window, shivering with cold. 

Slowly I opened the entry door, 

Oh how fiercely the wind did roar ! 

"What do you want ? You've been here before ! " 

Quickly she stepped on my tapestried floor. 

Half hiding her basket, she timidly said : — 

" Please, ma'am, will you give me a piece of bread ? 

I've two little sisters to be fed, 

And Pa's in the army, and Mamma is dead." 

I looked in the basket where crusts were piled, 

A pitiful story has oft beguiled, 

I thought, as I asked, " Where's your home my child ? 

Her face was honest ; her voice so mild ; 



242 A Story in Verse. 



" Up Bleecker Ally, not far from here." 
" And do you beg for a living ? " A tear 
To her dark eyes came : " Please, ma'am, I fear 
You'll think I'm lyin', it sounds so queer ; 
But 1 keeps boarders." 



Well, on my word, 
A funnier thing I never heard ! 
" Keeping boarders ? Why, how absurd ! " 
Her smile by a shade of grief was blurred. 
" ' Deed, ma'am, 'twas the best thing 1 could do 
For me an' Alice, an' little Sue 
Must have a home. We never knew 
Where Pa M'as gone. The rent come due. 
The agent come and swore a streak ; 
An' said he'd turn us in the street 
'Nless we paid the rent that week 
(The mean ol' low-lived, cross-grained sneak). 
Old Dow, he got a month's delay ; 
An' I said I'd get work 'twould pay. 
Oh ma'am, I tried most every way ; — 
Sold papers, swept crossings, until one day 
When little Alice was crying for bread — 
My heart was like a lump o' lead, 



A Story in Verse. 243 



An' I wished all of us was dead — 

When keepin' boarders popped into my head. 

I knew where I'd get many a crumb ; — 

But I thought I'd keep it kinder mum 

'Till I had tried the cooking some, 

When, first I knew, my boarders come ! " 

Her sparkling eyes were full of glee 

To see her story pleasing me. 

" So you had company to tea ? " 

" Yes ; and the boys caught my idee. 

And said they guessed it could be done, 

An' anyhow it would be fun. 

I told the prices to every one. 

And so next day I just begun." 

" But what do you give them to eat ? " I cried. 

She opened her basket and then replied : 

" You see, ma'am, all the bread is dried ; 

The meat 's most ginerally alius fried. 

So I cuts 'em an' stews 'em an' calls it hash, 

An, sells a plateful for three cents, cash. 

Sometimes I gits cold 'taties to mash. 

But puddin' — I tell you that sells in a flash !" 



244 ^ Story in Verse. 



" And how do you make a pudding, pray ? " 

" Bread, 'lasses an' spices ; fruits throwed away 

At hotels an' markets, — the boys 'ill pay 

Three cents for a dishful any day." 

" And how many boarders have you now ? " 

She counted her fingers and wrinkled her brow. 

" Lame Jim, Mike, Smutty, Pat, Rippy and Howe, 

The Pidgeon, Bill, Champe, the Rat and old Dow. 

Land's sake ! it's most noon. Indeed I must go. 

Little Alice '11 think I've been awful slow. 

Thank you, ma'am." And out she darted into the snow. 

Now here's a true story for Bertha and Grace. 
Up Bleeker Ally you'll find the place, 
Of "Borde fur Bootblaks " — that's the place, 
When you call, inquire for Emily Chase. 





A ROYAL GREETING. 

MRS. MARION T. FORTESCUE. 

{Read by the A uthor.) 

OW gather all the gems that shine, 

And, swinging censers in her honor, 
Lay them at our Lady's shrine ! 
Put royal-purple robes upon her! 
Wave ye banners — silken symbols 

Of her good and gracious deeds — 
Flash ye loud triumphant cymbals, 

Blaze, oh torch that Genius feeds ! 
For true as steel — as diamond keen, 

Aye, true as purest gold of Guinea, 
Is she we crown to-day our Queen, — 
No ermine needs our own Erminnie ! 

Right gladly have we claimed and crowned her, 

And now in loyal love surround her ; 

Aye, give her crown, and shield, and sceptre. 

Bright as eyes that never wept — or 

Eyes that she hath kissed from blindness 

By her warm and tender kindness. 



246 A Royal Greeting. 



Come each fair sesthetic maiden, 

Come, with myrrh and incense laden ; 

With flow'rs that bloom and vines that clamber, 

Twine the sacerdotal amber ! 

Bring the opal's soul of fire, 

Bring rubies, — red as love's desire ! 

Bring amethysts from caves of elves. 

Bring pearls, — as pure as your pure selves. 

And the sapphire's steady splendor — 

Like her eyes, blue, true and tender. 

Translucent topaz, emeralds green— 

For gems befit our jewel-queen 

Who plucks the highest plumes from science. 

And weaves them into dear alliance 

With the softer plumes of fancy. 

Till, by loving necromancy, 

Nature, science, history, art. 

All thrive in one harmonious heart. 

Whose thousand deeds of noiseless worth, 

Like good seeds hid in the silent earth 

Bedewed with tears in grateful showers. 

Will testify in four-fold flowers ; 

Why ! even the dusky Indian chief. 

Who, brooding o'er his dark belief, 



A Royal Greeting. 247 



Asks bitterly the bitter question : — 

" Is robber synonym for christian ? " 

Even he will turn to her and listen 

With softening face and eyes that glisten ; 

And her wise words and silken speech 

Far deeper than loud sermons reach, 

Though broken on progression's wheel, 

Converted at the point of steel. 

Though fed on ruin, rum, and rapine 

When horrid deeds of vengeance happen, 

The pious lift white hands of wonder 

And sigh, and legislate — and plunder ! 

Though — but this is theme too dark, pathetic ; 

For thy fete day belle reine esthe'tique, 

God save our Queen, long may she reign. 

The world of genius her domain. 

And on her throne of science sit, 

Our Queen by grace of brains and wit ! 




PAUL ON THE HILL-SIDE.'' 



AUBER FORESTIER. 

{Sung by Mr. H. R. Humphries.") 




AUL let his chickens run out on the hill-side, 
They o'er the hill went tripping along ; 
Paul understood, by the way they were acting, 
Reynard was out Avith his red tail so long, 
Cluck, cluck, cluck, the chickens were sighing, 
Cluck, cluck, cluck, the chickens were sighing, 
Paul was making wry faces and crying : 
" Now I'm afraid to go home to Mamma. 

" Had I now jaws, and had I now claws, and 

If I but knew where old Reynard lay ; 

How I would bite him, and how I would scratch 

I off his body the hide soon would flay : [him. 

Shame on all the red-haired foxes ! 

Shame on all the red-haired foxes ! 

Oh, how I wish they were dead, and in boxes ! 

Then I'd not fear to go home to Mamma." 



* Folk-song from the Norway Musical Album. 



Paul on the Hillside. 



249 



Paul took the corn to the mill and he ground it, 
So that it echoed both far and wide ; 
Dust and the chaff were flying around him, 
There stood the meal in the bag by his side. 
Paul now roared and laughed like the dickens. 
Paul now roared and laughed like the dickens. 
" Now I am paid for my eggs and my chickens — 
Now I can safelv go home to Mamma." 




EDWARD EVERETT CHAIR. 



IVE LAY US DOWN TO SLEEP. 



LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 



{Read by the A utkor.) 




E lay us down to sleep, 

And leave to God the rest, 
Whether to wake and weep 
Or wake no more be best. 

Why vex our souls with care ? 

The grave is cool and low, — 
Have we found life so fair 

That we should dread to go ? 

We've kissed love's sweet, red lips, 
And left them sweet and red : 

The rose the wild-bee sips 
Blooms on when he is dead. 

Some faithful friends we've found. 
But they who love us best. 

When we are under ground, 
Will laugh on with the rest. 



We lay X/s Down to Sleep. 



251 



No task have we begun 
But other hands can take : 

No work beneath the sun 
For which we need to wake. 

Then hold us fast, sweet death, 

If so it seemeth best 
To Him who gave us breath 

That we should go to rest. 

We lay us down to sleep, 
Our weary eyes we close : 

Whether to wake and weep 
Or wake no more, He knows. 




GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BYE. 



JOHN I.. HATTON. 



[Sun,z i>y Miss Addie Kellum.) 




HE bright stars fade, the morn is breaking, 
The dew-drops pearl each bud and leaf, 
And I from thee my leave am taking 
With bliss too brief, — with bliss — with bliss too brief. 
How sinks my heart with fond alarms, 

The tear is hiding in mine eye, 
For time doth trust me from thine arms. 



Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 
Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 
For time doth thrust me from thine arms, 
Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 



The sun is up, the lark is soaring. 
Loud swells the song of chanticleer. 

The hare bounds o'er earth's soft flooring, 
Yet I am here, yet I am here. 



Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye. 



253 



For since night's gems from heav'n did fade 

And morn to floral lips doth lie, 
I could not leave thee, tho' I said : 

Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 
Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 
I could not leave thee, tho' I said, 
Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye. 





TO MEET AGAIN. 

DAVID S. PROUDFIT.* 

[Read by the A ut/ior.) 

AREWELL ! farewell ! So short a word ! 
A whisper in the twilight heard, 
So faint the air is scarcely stirred ; 
But yet, withal, 
Deep thunder doth not heavier fall. 

What ashen lips ; what straining ears ; 
What pallid cheeks ; what blinding tears ; 
What fainting hearts through all these years ! 

Farewell ! farewell ! 
Slow lingering like a funeral knell. 

If every word, through space profound, 
A widening circle ripples round 
In endless wave on wave of sound, 

Forevermore, 
Nor breaks on any farthest shore ; 



* Peles Arkwriiiht. 



To Meet Again. 255 



And some bright spirit in his place 

Upon the azure verge of space 

Floats, poised, with calm expectant face. 

And, listening, hears 
The echoes of a thousand years ; 

As come the pulsing murmurs clear, 
The voices from the distant sphere 
Which only angel ears can hear. 

How mournful swells 
The burden of the world's farewells ! 

Farewell to the glories of the strife ; 
Farewell to lover, child, and wife ; 
Farewell to hope and joy and life. 

Farewell ! farewell ! 
A doom ! a dirge ! a tolling bell ! 

Not such our parting word to-day. 
To meet again, we, smiling, say : 
To meet again we fondly pray ; 

To meet again, 
With loving, trusting hearts. Amen ! 



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